Siren's Song
by jojospn
Summary: The boys are back in Canada! Trying to distract himself and Sam from his recent crossroads deal, Dean pics up a case in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, where young men are drowning under mysterious circumstances. Set in early season 3, mild spoilers from the end of AHBL 2, but for the most part orinignal story. Rated T for language and content.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own **_**Supernatural **_** or any of its characters. Any character names in this fic are purely coincidental, but the name of the town and lake are actually locations in Nova Scotia. Had to send the boys back to the Maritimes! Hope you enjoy my next attempt at a chapter fic, as most of my stories are one shots. Hope you enjoy!**

**Prologue**

The summer night was practically still, not a sound save for the rustling wind in the fields, the sounds of crickets and the faint call of an owl in the distance. It was a peaceful night, perfect for young lovers to cuddle in the back of pick-up trucks, huddled in blankets or to simply just lay in the dew kissed grass, gazing at the stars. Not that many young lovers would be spending much time star gazing. The moon shone peacefully amidst a starry June sky, casting a calm, but somehow still rather eerie glow upon the Antigonish Harbour. Inside his mom's battered early 90s model Honda Civic, Ryan Jones cruised along the practically deserted road, "Party Like a Rockstar" blaring from the stereo system. The nineteen-year-old, on his way home from his part time job at the local movie theatre, was looking forward to a night of hard partying, drinking, and if he was lucky, some serious fucking. Shit, Carly Harris was smoking, with her pouty lips, platinum blonde hair, and deep blue-green eyes.

Ryan smiled at the thought, and drew a quick breath of anticipation. Sure, he and Amanda hadn't technically broken up yet, but the two had agreed to a break, so what harm would a little fun in the bedroom do? Fuck, Mandy was more than welcome to do a little exploring of her own. And Kyle Ross _was_ a pretty good looking guy…

The song was clear and beautiful, soft and yet somehow loud enough for Ryan to hear despite the blaring hip hop on the radio. Instinctively Ryan eased off the gas and lowered the volume to nothing, listening. Had he really heard something, or was his imagination playing tricks on him? Curious, Ryan lowered the driver's window, listening again.

Sure enough, a soft, sweet song carried over the harbour, causing Ryan's heart to nearly skip a beat. It was seductive, gentle, like a woman whispering into his ear. And somehow, in between the melody, the young man heard his name, ever so faintly…

"Ryan…"

The young boy closed his eyes, breathing deeply as one caught in the midst of a powerful orgasm. And then, there she stood: a beautiful woman with long auburn hair, tousled just enough to be sexy, wide green eyes, and fair skin, to the point of pallor. She was wearing a long white spaghetti strapped sundress, the soft green floral pattern matching her eyes, her feet bare. Slowly the woman made her way to the Honda, a look of desire on her pale, and yet still beautiful face. She gestured for Ryan to open the passenger door for him.

He readily complied.

Slowly the mysterious woman made her way to the passenger door, still singing in her clear, intoxicating voice, and slid in the seat beside the young man. Closing the door behind her, the woman gently ran a hand along the pant leg of Ryan's black work uniform pants, landing strategically slightly below his pelvic bone. Ryan drew in a quick gasp, closing his eyes as the woman continued to seduce him, leaning in and nibbling softly in his ear.

"Come to me…"

And then, suddenly, Ryan's driver's window snapped closed, the locks on the doors secure. Suddenly feeling a surge of panic, Ryan tried to pull up on the lock, to no avail. The engine gunned, and Ryan felt his body slam against the seat, as if some force were pinning him down. The woman smiled, kissing him on the mouth, but Ryan tried to push her away, no longer charmed for the temptress's advances. But before he could attempt to fend for himself, the woman vanished, as if from thin air. The engine gunned a second time, the car righting itself to face the darkness of the harbour.

"Oh fuck, _oh fuck, OH FUCK!_" Ryan tried desperately to reach for the key, desperate for any attempts to kill the engine, but the force pinning him to the driver's seat was too strong. The back windows, as suddenly as they had closed, were now wide open, useless to the pinned teenager behind the wheel. The car suddenly lurched forward plunging into the dark abyss, filling it with water in seconds. As the water filled the boy's lungs, pulling him into darkness, Ryan's last conscious thought was: _that's the last time I let a hot woman in my car._


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters/plots. The name of the geographical area is real but any names are purely coincidental.**

**Chapter One**

_The low growls can be heard seemingly from all directions, low, guttural, and pure evil. Dean stares at the faint image before him, dark, bloodied, with piercing red eyes, greedily watching its prey. The hunter freezes, struggling to control his fear as the hellhound slowly advances, step by step, its gaze never leaving Dean's. Slowly, the young man reaches for his silver knife, the uncertainty that this weapon may not even kill the creature never escaping his mind. Green eyes lock on red as Dean's fingers inch closer to his blade._

_The hellhound suddenly is on the attack, pouncing like a leopard, sharp canines ready for the kill. Dean tries to flee, but his feet seem rooted to the ground. As he cries out in horror and pain, the hellhound tears into his flesh, clawing through his leather jacket, ripping Dean to shreds._

"_Sammy!" The name escapes from Dean's lips as the hellhound continues to shred the hunter like paper. "Oh God, Sammy, HELP ME!"_

XXX

"Sammy! Help me!" Dean sat upright in bed, breathing heavily, face drenched with sweat. The dingy motel is deserted, much to Dean's relief. The last thing he would have wanted was to have Sam witness his panic, hear him calling out his name in his sleep. The last thing he needed was a lecture from his brother that his crossroads deal was a mistake. Far from it. Dean knew that if he had the chance to do it again, he would in a heartbeat. It hadn't been Sam who had witnessed his brother die before his very eyes, to hold his body in his arms as he slipped away, the life draining from those hazel eyes…

_Damn it, Winchester. _Dean sighed, tossing aside his blankets and making his way to the tiny motel bathroom. He stood before the mirror, unpleased with the reflection. His hair was a mess, was in bad need of a shave, and dark circles hung around his usually bright green eyes. Groaning, Dean splashed cold water on his face, hoping to look at least somewhat presentable should Sam return. He stared at the man before him, looked back on happier times: pranks in the Impala, summer nights sharing cold ones while gazing at the endless sea of stars, blasting Zeppelin and AC/DC at full blast, much to Sam's chagrin. Dean chuckled at the latter. Sam had always had terrible taste in music, was more into douchy shit like Chili Peppers or whatever that crap was.

"Dean?" Sam was back, and judging by the delicious smells wafting through the tiny motel, he had brought coffee and breakfast. Smiling despite himself (after all, he was _never_ too upset for food), Dean made his way from the bathroom and reached for the tall Styrofoam cup and popped the tab on the plastic lid. Black, just the way he liked it. "Mmm thanks Sammy," he murmured with a grin before sipping his coffee. Sammy glanced at him, noticing that his brother looked like crap, decided to ignore his gut feeling, and dropped a paper take out bag on the bedside table. "Breakfast in the bag, too. Bacon and Egg McMuffin."

"Man after my own heart," Dean teased with a grin, reaching into the bag and pulling out a hash brown and the breakfast sandwich. Sam rolled his eyes as his brother unwrapped the greasy mess and took a large bite, sighing in contentment.

"Dude. Do you ever not think of your stomach? Those things are disgusting." Dean laughed as Sam pulled out a bran muffin and fruit and yogurt cup and began to unwrap the plastic spoon. "Well, at least I die happy."

"Don't even joke about that."

Dean looked up, saw the hurt in his brother's eyes. Shit. He had made a joke about dying. Definitely an inappropriate time. "Sammy, I'm sorry, kinda bad timing, huh?" Sam never responded, just plopped on his bed and fired up his laptop. Dean watched, eating the rest of his sandwich mechanically. Suddenly he was feeling like he was losing his appetite.

"Any new cases?" Sam tapped his fingers rather impatiently against the keyboard of his computer, waiting for it to load. The mood was already uncomfortable, and for once, Sam was more than willing to change the subject. For the most part, the younger Winchester always wanted to bring it up, to try to come up with some way to save his brother from hell, but Dean had always brushed him off. "Let's take a vacation, Sammy," he had suggested one time. "Get some fake passports and get shitfaced in Tijuana, meet some lovely ladies." Sam knew that he was trying to hide the fact that his brother was scared shitless, but had dropped the topic every time. Why bother when Dean was acting like he didn't care? About himself or Sam's wellbeing, for that matter? But this time, Sam could sense that something was wrong. He probably had a nightmare or something. Completely understandable. And now the idiot (well, idgit according to Bobby) was trying to brush it off, act all macho. The typical Dean Winchester solution to all of life's problems. But for once, Sam said nothing. There was still eleven months to figure something out.

"Actually, found one last night from a friend of Bobby's. Bunch of mysterious drownings in some place called Antigonish, wherever that is."

"Um, that's in Canada, Dean. Nova Scotia."

"Awesome." Dean si ghed. He clearly remembered the first, and last, case they had taken north of the border. A headless nun in the town of Miramichi, New Brunswick, had been killing hikers on the local trail. Unfortunately, Azaezel and his gang had rigged for the boys to take their little trip up north, resulting in Dean nearly dying at the hand of the Yellow Eyed Demon. Granted, this could have happened anywhere, but Dean still felt a tad awkward leaving the country for anything hunting related. Who knew what shit could go down, and in a foreign country no less? But it was a distraction from his deal, and hey, free health care, right?

"Ok so we have some mysterious drownings. Go on." Sam logged on the internet and typed furiously in the search engine. Before long a newspaper article popped on screen. "Says here the guy drove his car off a cliff into the Antigonish Harbour. Vic's name is Ryan Jones, age 19. Never came home from work on Friday night. The police found his Honda Civic on the bottom of the lake, windows wide open, kid still inside."

"Nothing odd about that."

"The kid wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and yet seemed to be glued to his seat, with nothing weighing the body down. Last time I checked, a person tends to float a little when submerged in water without anything to weigh him down."

Sam scanned the article, and then looked up at his brother. "Ok, Dean, a little odd, but doesn't seem very much like our kind of thing. Could be explained."

"Yeah, that could," Dean admitted as he sipped his coffee. "But how about the young man before that? He drowned in his car too. On dry land." He pulled out a newspaper article from a few days earlier. "Kid was found in his car, a good 100 feet or so from the waterfront, soaking wet. The car itself is bone dry and get this, autopsy report said that his lungs were full of water. If he hadn't know any better, the coroner would have said cause of death would be suffocation due to drowning."

"Ok, that kinda sounds like our kind of thing."

"You think?" Dean reached in his duffle, pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. "I'm going to hit the shower. Thinking we should dig out the Canadian passports?"

XXX

An hour later the boys were on the road. Fortunately the boys had just finished hunting a wendigo in Maine, and were only a few hours away from the Canadian border. A few pit stops and a (fortunately) uneventful stop at the border crossing, the Impala pulled into the little town of Antigonish. It looked something out of a postcard, with its quaint old school feel. It reminded Sam of the New England towns in Connecticut or Vermont, with its older brick structures. Originally founded in 1784 under the name Dorchester, the town eventually became prospered to become a quaint university town and host of the city's popular Highland Games. In other words, a town which was bound to be rich in folklore. A quick Google search revealed that there were some possible supernatural hot spots associated with the area: mysterious fires which would materialize under bizarre circumstances in an area known as Caledonia Mills; a ghost ship at a nearby place called Malignant Cove; and the mysterious sound of drumming by Tracadie Lake, presumably the spirits of soldiers killed in battle when British forces attacked Fort Beausejour in 1758. All interesting facts, but completely unrelated to the alleged water spirit. Sam announced as much as the Impala cruised into the town limits.

"So, basically just a bunch of legends that have nothing to do with the case. Great." Dean felt his stomach growl as they passed a diner, and immediately decided to make a point to check it out once they had settled into their motel.

"Looks like." Sam sighed, rubbing his temples gingerly. He could feel a headache coming on and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and bed. But a job was a job, even if he would have much rather been researching on how to weasel his brother out of his demon deal. Dean glanced at him quizzically, but wisely said nothing as he pulled the sleek car into the parking lot of a Holiday Inn and killed the engine. "Okay, we'll just have to pay a visit to the ME tomorrow, see if there's anything unusual," he suggested as he pulled his duffle out of the trunk and reached for Sam's backpack. "But first, we need to fuel up." As expected, Dean was ready to go get something to eat practically as soon as they had checked in, and reluctantly Sam followed, laptop in tow. Dean rolled his eyes as he climbed into the driver's seat and switched on some Sabbath. Sometimes little brothers were such killjoys.

XXX

As expected, Sam barely picked at his food, while his brother dug into his bacon cheeseburger and fries with gusto. Rolling his eyes, Sam plunged his fork into an overripe tomato and chewed methodically, eyes barely leaving the laptop screen. Frustrated, Dean snapped his fingers in front of his brother's bland face.

"Seriously, dude. Can't you stop for five minutes to eat?"

"Can't. Researching the case."

"God you're such a nerd," Dean muttered in between mouthfuls of burger, and Sam begrudgingly chuckled despite himself. He was going to miss that about Dean. The way he would always make him laugh…

_Jesus, Sam._ He was talking like he was going to give up on Dean already? They still had practically a year to come up with something to save him. Sam looked back on the time when Dean had almost died in that car accident, how Sam had been adamant on repairing the Impala, when Bobby believed the car to be a write-off. Hell, the damn thing was fucking totalled. But Sam had insisted that they salvage. "Dean's going to want to fix it up when he gets better," he had told their mentor. "We can't just give up on it…" To give up on the Impala would be to give up on Dean. And he can't give up on his brother. Not after he had given up his very soul for him.

"Seriously, man," Dean groaned, snapping the laptop closed. "You need to back off a bit. Enough with the hell stuff."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Sam! You didn't bring that thing so that you could look up water spirits. You were trying to figure out a way to wiggle my way out of my deal."

"Dean…" Sam tried to deny it, but his brother only stared him down, dropping a half-eaten French fry on his plate. "Sam, I can read you like a goddamned book. Now you're going to back off with the hell stuff and start research what we're supposed to be working on."

"How can you expect me to just 'research a case' when _your_ case should be my priority? Do you really expect me to just let you die?" Sam paused, finally noticing the other diners staring at the Winchesters with a little more than just idle curiosity. Shit. They were talking about hell in a public place. Just wonderful.

As if on cue, Dean reached into his wallet, sorting through his cash to make sure that he was pulling out Canadian money. "Time and a place, Sammy," he muttered, placing a wad of the colourful bills on the table.

"Then we can talk about it at the motel."

"No. I said drop it." Dean grabbed his jacket and walked briskly out of the diner, Sam following sulkily. _Note to self: when researching about hellhounds, do it at the goddamned motel._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. All rights reserved. The names of the places and the university are real, but the cemetery mentioned later is completely fictitious. Any similarities in the characters to others are purely coincidental.**

**Chapter Two**

"I still don't understand why the feds want to cover this case. Seems like a cut and dry drowning to me." The coroner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he led the Winchesters, dressed to the nines in suit and tie, down a long corridor in the basement of the local hospital. The doctor seemed to be a kind hearted man, middle aged with a slight pot belly, salt and pepper hair and plain grey eyes. His name tag read Dr. Alan Donahue. He had looked at the Winchesters with skepticism as the brothers flashed their CSIS badges, scrutinizing them for several moments before finally handing them back to "agents Reynolds and Costner". Having passed the doctor's test he led the boys down to the morgue, still questioning the boys the entire way down.

"It's just a precaution. We've heard of a few suspicious drownings in Maine and the trail seems to have led us up here," Sam replied smoothly, carefully pulling an index card from his breast pocket. "I have contacts from CSIS as well as the FBI if you would like further information." Thank God for Bobby. Between him and Rufus, there would be no problem for the doctor to vouch for the "agents". The perks of being good friends with Bobby Singer. The doctor nodded his thanks as he accepted the phony cards and slipped them in the pocket of his jacket, as if he finally seemed satisfied that the two men before him were legit. "Still seems kind of odd, but guess it's not my job to question you guys, huh?"

Dean smiled, about to flash a "no kidding" grin when Sam snuck in a subtle "bitch face" before interrupting his brother. "It's not a problem to be sure, Dr. Donahue. No offense taken, we assure you." Dean nodded in agreement as the doctor opened the door to the morgue and gestured the brothers inside: "after you."

A few minutes later, the body of Ryan Jones was before the brothers, staring lifeless from the metal gurney, a thin sheet covering the body from the chin down. "As I was stating earlier, there were no signs of struggle: the nails were free of any trace evidence, no broken bones or abrasions. The only thing that seems a little out of the ordinary is this." Carefully the doctor lifted the teen's body, revealing a series of red marks on his back, or impressions. The brothers looked at the anomaly, surprised. They had heard that the boy had been pinned to his car, but to this extent?"

"Is there any way to explain these markings?" Dean asked, drawing a quick sketch of the pattern in his notebook. Because clearly depicted on the boy's back was an imprint of a logo, like something found on a seat cover. It was a steering wheel, complete with the name of the company: Mike's Premium Seat Covers.

"It seems that the victim was pressed against the seat with such force that the logo on the seat cover made an impression on his back. Judging by the bright colour, it was pre-mortem. If you were to ask me, it was as if someone was forcibly holding Mr. Jones against his will until he expired."

"But there was no one else in the car at the time of death."

"No, and as I mentioned earlier, no signs of struggle."

"Have there been any other unusual drownings in the area? Any time in the past few years or so?" Sam asked, pulling out his own notepad and pen. The doctor gave him a quizzical look before answering. "There were a few cases of similar drownings in the 90s and early 2000s. Just your typical highway accidents and suicides. A few murders here in there, but nothing that would fit your profile. All of them have been solved, perps behind bars."

"We would appreciate it if we could have access to that list," Dean announced, looking up from his note taking.

"You would have to contact the local authorities, Agent Reynolds," Donahue replied rather caustically. "I do not have the authority to just hand it over." Another skeptical glance at the Winchesters: "how long have you boys been agents? You seem kinda young, especially you, young man," with a chubby finger pointing at Sam.

"Yes, sir, we understand that you do not have the authority to provide such information," Sam answered smoothly, "we believe that it would be easier should the RCMP be notified ahead of time, save some time for all of us."

"Phone's in the office," was the doctor's snarky reply, pushing the tray holding Ryan Jones' body back in place. "As expected, the autopsy revealed water in the victim's lungs, atypical to a drowning victim. Nothing surprising."

"And what of the other victim? The one from a week or so earlier?"

"Drowning too. Autopsy results were the same, including the strange marks on the back."

"Do you not think it odd that the victim drowned in his car on dry land? Seems a little strange, to say the least."

"Hell yes I think it's strange," Dr. Donahue replied testily, eyeing Dean with disdain. "But the autopsy results clearly show that the cause of death was suffocation from excess fluid in the lungs." The doctor pulled out a plastic container containing the first victim's lungs. The brothers peered inside; sure enough, there was evidence that the victim had, indeed, drowned. "Obvious explanation could be that the victim was drowned, and retrieved to be strategically placed in a second vehicle. The vic was already dead when found."

"Seems like a lot of trouble to stage a body," Dean countered, scribbling furiously. The doctor sighed, obviously annoyed by the "agent's" demeanor. "Look, I just perform the autopsy. That's it. Anything else, agents?"

"No, I believe we're finished," Sam replied with a smile, extending his hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Doctor." Donahue grunted a little, but shook Sam's hand, rather begrudgingly. "Anything to help, I guess."

XXX

A few hours later, the Winchesters were back at the motel, complete with a list of similar deaths dating back from the 1970s. The trip to the coroner had been uneventful, revealing information that the boys had already been familiar with, but at least they had a list of potential cases to base a pattern on. A lot of research, hours of it in fact. Dean sighed, popping open a bottle of beer and taking a long swig before pulling out one of the case files. Research had never been one of his favorite pass times: it was a necessity, one he usually passed on to Sam, since he seemed to take enjoyment in it. But at the moment, research was helping him to forget: about his deal, his impending fate, and how stressed his brother was trying to find some way to save him. If mountains of tedious reading would distract the both of them, so much the better.

"Find anything interesting?" Dean asked, sifting through the pages of his current case. A young woman had lost control of her car in 1983 in the middle of a snowstorm, crashing into the Antigonish Harbour, a few weeks before Christmas. Nothing supernatural, just damn depressing. Merry fucking Christmas. Sam looked up from his bed, sitting amidst a pile of file folders and newspaper clippings. "No, not really. Just the usual. Car accident, suicide. One guy got fired from his job, cuffed himself to the steering wheel of his SUV and just drove off a cliff. Nothing that seems vengeful spirit-like to me. How about you?"

"Same," Dean muttered, swallowing another mouthful of beer before continuing with his work. Seems like a lot of people had shitty cars or something. Most of these cases are simple mechanical failure or crappy road conditions. Hey, wait a second." Dean pulled out a file, began to scan through it. Just as Sam was about to speak up, Dean began to read the file's contents.

"I think we might have a winner. Some Lindsey Harrison was found dead in the bottom of the harbour in 1991, in her car. She picked up some hitchhiker on the way to a class at the local university. Never made it there. Seems like the guy held her against the seat, pinning her down with rope. The hitchhiker had just escaped from a mental institution. Some kids had tied him up and threw him in the water as a kid. Luckily someone found the guy before he died, but it traumatized him pretty good."

"Sounds like vengeful spirit to me," Sam admitted, leaning against the headboard and stretching his long frame. "Wait, what was that again about being tied to the seat?"

"Guy ties his victims to the driver's seat so they can't get out. Windows are wide open, so the car floods faster, plus the perp can hightail his ass out of there."

"That explains why the victims were pushed against the seat," Sam mused, rubbing his temple. "Seems like she wants them to go through what she did. A poetic justice kind of thing. Looks like we have to find Lindsey Harrison."

XXX

After a few hours of research, the boys found the information needed about Lindsey Harrison. A good girl of 19, class valedictorian and youngest of three daughters, Lindsey was a hard working girl who grew up in Amherst, not too far from the Nova Scotia/New Brunswick border. She moved to Antignonish to study History at St. Francis Xavier University after graduating from high school, where she worked as a cashier at the local grocery store. Always trusting to a fault, Lindsey could never pass a stranger without trying to help out in some way. As fate would have it, on the day she picked up the hitchhiker that would claim her life, it was pouring out. And there was no way Lindsey would let someone, even a complete stranger, stay caught in a downpour. Following the accident, Lindsey's body was returned to Amherst for interment.

"Looks like we're hitting the road," Sam announced, looking up from the screen for a moment. "The family buried Lindsey in her hometown, back by the New Brunswick border in a place called Pine Hill Cemetery."

"Well, then, let's hit the road," Dean announced, reaching for his jacket and the keys to the Impala. "But I think we should stop and get something to eat first…."

XXX

It was after dark by the time the brothers pulled into the loose gravel drive at the foot of the old church. The structure was old, built in the early 18 hundreds, and seemed to be poorly maintained, as if the church had been abandoned for some time. The rose bushes were in need of trimming, despite the vibrant blossoms which still bloomed, and the grass in front in desperate need of a few passes with a lawn mower. The front porch was in dire need of a coat of paint, as did the trimming near the windows. Dean killed the engine, pocketing his keys and heading to the trunk for the usual materials needed (lighter fluid, salt, shovels, flashlight), with Sam in tow. Seemed like this was going to be an easy case, much to Dean's disappointment. Under normal circumstances, a simple salt and burn was greatly welcomed, much easier to handle then a shifter or a ghoul. And in this case, everything seemed to fall into place. Spirit identified, no cremation, just a quick salt n' burn and case closed. This time, however, Dean almost wished that there was more to this case. After all, the longer the job, the more distractions for the both of them. And if a tricky case would get Sam to lighten up about his hell research, or help Dean himself temporarily forget his impending doom, then so much the better.

Sam shone the beam of his light on the black iron gate, holding the beam steady as Dean picked the padlock. Seconds later, the gate swung open with a creak (obviously it had been a while since the doors had opened to the public) and the boys pushed it aside, scanning the burial ground with their flashlights. It was a rather eerie sight, most of the headstones being old and decrepit, the bases overgrown with weeds. Many of the epitaphs were faded and unreadable, those resting beneath the stones having long since turned to dust. The moon, peeking from beneath the clouds, cast an eerie glow upon the nearby maple tree, casting a long shadow upon the graveyard like a bony claw. Despite himself, Sam shivered. It was all too possible that by this time next year Dean would be among the dead, only without a stone to mark his final resting place. Sam shuddered, tried to get a grip on himself. He had a job to do, dammit, and freaking out like this would no doubt only result in Dean punching his ticket to the Hellfire Express ahead of schedule.

Fortunately, if Dean had noticed Sam's odd behavior, he didn't acknowledge it, and immediately Sam was back to himself, shining his light on the numerous headstones. After a few minutes of searching, the Winchesters found Lindsey Harrison's grave, at the far back corner of the property. Taking turns, Dean shone the light and kept watch as Sam dug, shovelful after shovelful of dirt forming a large pile at his side. A half hour or so later, Sam sprinkled salt on the corpse and squirted copious amounts of lighter fluid as Dean struck a match. The body of Lindsey Harrison went up in flames, the glow somehow warm and inviting in comparison to the pale moonlight.

"Well, that's that," Dean said with a grin after the boys had returned to the Impala. "Don't know about you Sammy, but I could use a shower and a few beers. Wanna hit the pool table, try to score a little extra cash? Maybe meet a sweet Canadian girl or two?" Dean winked, one of his trademark shit eating grins on his face, but Sam merely rolled his eyes as he dropped his shovel into the trunk. "Really? You want to go out drinking?"

"Why not? Celebrate a job well done?"

"Because…" Sam stopped himself when he noticed the rather annoyed look beginning to creep on his brother's face. Because Sam wanted to do some more research on how to save his brother's ass, something which Dean seemed to show no concern for. But it was true that Sam was tired, and no doubt would miss any important information. Best to try again in the morning when he had a clear head. "Fine. We are kind of low on cash anyway."

"That's my boy," Dean grinned, gunning the car's engine and blasting Motörhead's "Built for Speed". "Gotta live a little Sammy, have a little fun."

Sam sighed, already feeling the beginnings of a headache. It was going to be a long night.

**Simple salt and burn, right? But then again, when was anything ever easy for the Winchesters? Guess we'll have to find out soon enough! Thanks for reading and reviewing, much appreciated!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I do not own **_**Supernatural **_**or any of its characters. See prologue for remainder of disclaimer re locations. Feel free to review or PM me, it really makes my day! Sorry for the long wait between updates, life caught up to me so had no time to write. Plus a bit of writer's block. Anyway, hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

"Fuck, Alex, you are such an asshole!" The young woman fumbled to unbuckle the seatbelt of the Chevy Silverado, fighting off tears. The young man in the driver's seat shot his girlfriend (well, at this point soon to be ex-girlfriend) a glare as he leaned against the seat, reaching for his cellphone. It was beeping incessantly, warning him that someone had texted him. Seeing the teen reach for the mobile device, the young woman became more animate. "See? That's my point! Rather than try to talk to me you spend more time on that fucking phone! Really? You'd rather text your whore?"

"For one, Amy is not a whore, and secondly, that was my mom," Alex spat, stuffing the phone in his jeans pocket. "You're problem is that you're a control freak with serious jealousy issues. Shit, Chrissie, you seriously need to lighten up."

"I had good reason to be jealous! You fucking _cheated_ on me! On our goddamned _anniversary!"_ Chrissie snatched her purse and flung open the door to the pick-up. "Whatever. You two are perfect for each other. Both manipulative and immature." She slammed the door without saying another word and stormed away, leaving the twenty-year-old to slam his fists against the steering wheel in frustration. "So are you!" he yelled, but the response fell on deaf ears as the young woman disappeared from sight.

Alex sighed, pulled out his phone again to respond to the text. Actually, the message _had_ been from Amy, wondering where the young man was. _Where r u?_

_Out. Brb._ Alex quickly typed the conveniently ambiguous text and pressed send before tossing the cell on the now empty passenger seat. He looked up, reached back to fasten his seatbelt when suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared, as if out of nowhere, before him. "Well," he murmured, smiling to himself. "Man, she's fucking hot." Indeed, the woman before him was beautiful, with wild auburn hair, emerald eyes, and a white and green sundress, the neckline plunging enough to reveal her rather ample bosom. The material clung to her body, as if she had just stepped out of the water, her full lips parted seductively.

"Come to me," she purred, slowly making her way to the truck. Smiling like a kid on Christmas morning, Alex unlocked the door and the woman made her way inside. Moments later, she was on top of him, running her fingers through Alex's blonde hair and kissing him on the mouth, gently at first, and then passionately, hungrily. Forgetting about Amy, Alex greedily kissed the woman back, his own hands clutching at the auburn locks, then down her throat, eventually caressing the soft, supple breast. The woman, much to Alex's surprise and delight, did not flinch at the touch, only began to whisper in his ear: "Come to me, Alex."

"Fuck, _yeah!_" Alex murmured, as the beautiful creature began to breathe seductively against his neck. Suddenly, he pushed him against the seat, kissing him one more time. "Come to me."

There was a slight _whoosh_ as the automatic locks clicked into place, and then another _whirr_ as the windows slid closed. At first, Alex didn't notice, still engrossed in the young woman before him. And then, suddenly, he felt a rush of cold at his sandaled feet as water began to fill the cab.

"What the fuck!" Alex finally snapped out of his reverie, looking up to the beautiful girl before him, who was now glaring at him, green eyes filled no longer with passion, but pure hatred. "It's your fault, Nathan," she yelled.

"What is your problem, bitch?" By now, Alex was terrified, the water already well past his ankles and climbing steadily up his leg. But by now, the woman was gone, having vanished as quickly as she had materialized. Panic setting in, the young man reached for the door, but it refused to budge. "Shit, shit, shit…" He tried to lean forward, in hopes of trying the passenger door, but to his horror, Alex realized that he was unable to move, some unseen force pinning him down. By now, the water, cold and murky, was chest deep and rising fast. With nothing left to do, Alex tried desperately to cry for help, but to no avail. He let out one final cry of fear as the water enveloped him. The cab remained submerged until Alex's struggles subsided and began to slowly drain away, leaving the young man slumped against the seat, dead.

XXX

The young couple sat huddled together on the wool blanket, sipping beer from Dixie cups and enjoying each other's company, stealing kisses between drinks. It was a mild late June night, a faint breeze from the harbour refreshingly cool against newly sunburnt skin. In moments, gentle kisses became passionate make out sessions, the warm beer long forgotten. For a while the couple were uninterrupted, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the whisper of a passing car. It was shortly around 11 at night when suddenly the young girl pushed her boyfriend away, a look of concern in her brown eyes: "did you hear something?"

The young man paused for a moment, heard nothing and pulled the girl closer, trying for another kiss. "Nope. Probably just the wind."

"No. I swear I heard something, like a scream. And I thought I heard a woman's voice, calling out. I think it was a name, Ethan or something like that."

"Are you sure Chelsea? I didn't hear anything."

"Of course you didn't," Chelsea teased with a giggle. "You're hearing with something, all right, but definitely not your ears." She winked and gazed subtly downward, and the young man blushed. "Well, maybe we should check it out." In all honesty, he figured that nothing was wrong, but he really liked Chelsea Alderson, and any excuse to look good in her eyes was good enough for him. Nodding, the young woman rummaged along their bags, pulled out a flashlight, and followed her companion along the path back to the dirt road. She swept the beam back and forth, listening in hopes of finding any clue to pinpoint the noise's origin. Sure enough, a few moments later, they heard it, the sound clear, carrying in the summer wind. "That's a call for help!" Chelsea tugged at the young man's arm. "I knew I wasn't hearing things. Come on Jake!"

As quickly as possible, the two made their way along the road, following the eerie cries. After five minutes, the two stopped before a dark shadow, no doubt a vehicle of some sort. A quick shine of the flashlight confirmed their suspicions and the two carefully made their way over. "Is everything ok?" Jake asked, cautiously approaching the pick-up. Chelsea aimed the beam at the cab, and let out an ear-piercing shriek.

XXX

"So we salted the wrong corpse. Awesome." Dean sighed, feigning frustration, tucking his phony CSIS badge back in his breast pocket. Though troubled that another innocent had been killed the night before, secretly he was pleased that the spirit, or whatever it was, was still out there. The longer the case, the more distracted both he and Sam (though the latter seemed less likely) would be from Dean's ever ticking Doomsday clock. A quick glance beside him revealed that Sam was just as distracted as ever, striding briskly to the crime scene but with a vacant expression in his hazel eyes. Great. The last thing Dean needed was for his brother to be off his A game. Fortunately, by the time the brothers reached the grey Silverado, Sam seemed to be back to his self again.

"What do we got?" he asked the officer on duty, a short balding man with a slight pot belly. His name badge read Constable J. Stewart. The officer was taking a statement from a young couple, writing furiously in his notebook. He looked up when he noticed the Winchesters approaching, and then nodded to the teenagers. "Thank you for your time." He motioned for the brothers to follow him, and the trio walked out of earshot of the couple, Constable Stewart debriefing as they went. "Kids say they were making out a mile or so from the scene when they heard screaming. They got there to find the truck filled with water and or vic dead. No fucking clue how that's even possible, but guess there's a first time for everything, right?" The constable gave a nervous laugh as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. "Anyway, the girl swears she heard a woman's voice calling out someone's name, Ethan or Keegan or something like that."

"Does the victim have anything on him to identify him?" Sam inquired, and Constable Stewart nodded. "Name's Alex LeBlanc. Which surprises me how the girl got Ethan. The names don't sound remotely alike."

"We'd like to ask the witnesses a few questions if you don't mind."

"Knock yourself out," the constable replied wearily, massaging his aching temples. "You won't get much more than I did, but guess there's no harm in trying."

The brothers nodded their thanks and made their way to where the couple was standing, wrapped in a woolen blanket, their faces looking eerie in the red and blue glow of the cruiser's lights. The boys decided to separate their questioning, with Dean taking Chelsea (_surprise, surprise_, Sam thought with a rather forced grin) and Sam questioning her boyfriend. As expected, there were no real leads, until Dean was nearly finished with his witness.

"One thing I found weird," she muttered, toying nervously with her hair," was this mark on Alex's neck. I swear it was a hickey."

Dean arched an eyebrow, pausing a moment in his writing. "A hickey?"

"Yeah, on the right side of his neck. I'd recognize one a mile away." Grinning somewhat embarrassedly, Chelsea pushed aside some of her thick, sun kissed blonde hair. No denying that the chick's boyfriend had a little fun just before they discovered Alex's body. What a way to kill the mood. Dean nodded, scribbled _vic has hickey! _ on his page and snapped the little booklet shut. "Well, thank you for your time, Miss Alderson. Get some rest, ok? Or maybe your boyfriend will help you out a bit with that." He winked at Sam and Jake who were still chatting in the distance. As if on cue, Dean heard his brother thank Jake and make his way back, a look of frustration on his face. Guess he found out nothing. And all he found out was that someone was making out with Aqua Man right before he died. Not really much to go on.

_Well, _Dean thought to himself as he eased into the driver's seat of the Impala and turned the key. The muscle car roared into life as his brother settled in his usual spot shotgun. _Guess I spoke a tad too soon._ Maybe this case wasn't going to be so cut and dry after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. All credit goes to Kripke and co. See Prologue for disclaimer regarding characters and setting. Hope you enjoy, and love to get reviews (hint hint ;) ) as they keep me motivated to write more! PS a little treat for you Sam girls out there coming up :D**

**Chapter 4**

_Dean is running, legs pumping, lungs burning in his throat, pushing aside brambles and bushes as he makes his way through the thick woods. He can hear the snarls of the hellhound at his heels; can hear the thud of his heart as it pounds in his chest, the harried gasps of his unsteady breathing. In the distance, a clock is chiming, the sound of each clang lingering in the night. Each note is more ominous than the last, seemingly mocking Dean as he struggles to free himself of the beast which incessantly haunts his dreams. Always there, always ready for the kill, eager to sink its incisors into Dean's throat._

_Dean continues to run, occasionally glancing behind to see just how close the hellhound is, always finding it to be far too close for comfort. And then, suddenly, Dean stops short, staring at a brick wall, trapping him. Dean turns, pressing his back as far as he can against the bricks, trying to keep an expression of bravado on his face but failing miserably. This is it. This is the end. In a few minutes he will be drug to Hell, screaming and begging for mercy._

_And suddenly, the mutt is gone, with Sam standing before him, a smile of pure hatred on his usually calm and gentle face. He pulls out a dagger, eyes it hungrily, taunting his brother as he waves the blade before his terrified green eyes. He says nothing, just stares as his brother before plunging the blade in his chest._

XXX

Sam sits bolt upright in his bed, trembling, body slick with sweat, the clock on his cell phone reading 5:45. He sits for a while, trying to even out his unsteady breathing, running a shaky hand through his mop of brown hair. He had dreamed of killing his brother. Christ, he had dreamed of killing Dean! For a moment, Sam thinks he is going to lose his shit, to start freaking out in the middle of the motel room, but after taking a few deep breaths, begins to calm down, the panic attack slowly easing off. A quick glance reveals that Dean is asleep in the bed beside him, snoring softly, a lore book resting on his lap. _Thank God he doesn't seem to be having any nightmares,_ Sam thought. _Last thing the guy needs right about now is another reminder of what's going to happen._ Sam closes his eyes, memory of the dream flooding back. _What's going to happen if I don't stop this. _

Finally feeling at least somewhat calm, Sam tosses his blankets aside and makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. It may be only 6AM, but he's fully awake (his damned subconscious made sure of that) and ready to get some research done. Anything to distract him. Quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping brother, Sam closes the door, slips out of his boxers, and climbs into the tub, turning on the stream as hot as he dares. The water actually does help, the steam and spray soothing the tension in his shoulders and upper back. He just stands there, allowing the water to cascade along his body, until he feels the water start to cool down.

He can't let his brother die. He just can't. He'd rather die himself than let anything happen to his big brother. All his life, it had been Dean trying to protect him. Now he has the chance to return the favor, and is at the moment helpless to do so. Granted, it isn't easy to research with Dean insisting on taking other jobs, leading him on hunts in all corners of the continent. Nova Scotia? Dean drives all the way to Canada? Granted, Canadians experienced supernatural phenomena just as Americans did, and had every right to be protected too, but Sam knew that Dean's intentions had not been to just save another civilian. The farther the commute, the better. The more distracted his brother was, the less likely he would try to research his own case and try to save his own ass. _Well guess what Dean. It isn't going to work._ Shivering in the sudden cold, Sam quickly dresses and leaves the bathroom, eager to fire up his laptop and start researching. Only this time, he doesn't look up water spirits.

XXX

"I think I finally have something here." Sam looks up from his laptop and across the table where Dean is leafing through a pile of death certificates the brothers had managed to score from the county offices. The elder Winchester looks up from his own research, reaching for his beer as he does so. "Yeah, what do you got?"

"Remember how Chelsea Alderson swore victim number three had a hickey on the right side of his neck?"

"Yeah." Dean chuckled. The guy had a little action before he went to see the big man in the sky. Not many people were that lucky. Sam merely rolled his eyes, and went back to reading from the screen. "She also said he was calling out a name, something like Ethan."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Where are you going with this, Sam?"

"God you're so impatient." Sam sighed before continuing. "Anyway, I was looking around some other stories about past drowning victims when I came up with this." He turned the laptop around so that Dean could read the contents of the web page. "Happened in June of 1994. Vanessa MacLeod, age 22, was out for a walk along the Antigonish Harbour with her boyfriend, one Jason Williams, when her ex-boyfriend found them. Surprise, surprise, ex is jealous and offs her. Waits for lover boy to go home, knocks out Vanessa and ties her to the driver's seat of the car."

"Just like the last time. Shit Sammy, we were on the right track. Why the same MO? Copycat?"

"That's what I'm thinking," Sam agreed, unscrewing the cap from his bottled water and taking a swig. Dean eyed his beer with a slight feeling of guilt. Yeah maybe it was barely past noon, but considering the fact that in less than a year he would be dancing the two-step in Hell he figured he may as well enjoy some of the littler things in life.

"Anyway," Sam continued, noticing the sort of faraway expression in his brother's eyes, "I do think the kid was trying to do the copycat thing, you know, pin the murder on someone else. Thing is, the kid isn't really all that bright. Never bothered to check that the original perp was already arrested for the crime, and never made sure that the boyfriend was really gone. Turns out it was Jason who spotted him wandering the woods before the murder. Granted he never actually saw the guy kill his girlfriend, but it was good enough to place him at the scene of the crime. Plus, the dumbass left the pipe he'd used and his footprints at the scene of the crime. Left his DNA all over the place. Guy was caught in a few weeks."

"Okay, poindexter," Dean smirked, "so the kid's an idiot. Go on."

"So anyway, once our victim is tied to the truck, the kid does the whole "shove 'er in neutral and let gravity do the rest thing. Car rolls in the lake and our victim drowns."

"Again, explains the whole water spirit thing." Dean started to look inpatient, waving his hand absently as he reached again for his beer. Sam rolled his eyes and continued. "So, guess what the ex's name is?"

"Ethan?"

"No, but I think maybe our witness didn't quite get the name write." Sam scrolled down the page, and highlighted a name before turning it back to his brother.

"Nathan Long. Nathan sounds a little like Ethan, doesn't it?"

Sam nodded. "Exactly. I think we might actually have our water spirit." Turning the laptop back in his direction, he continued to work, Dean watching in silence for a moment before returning to his own research. He wanted to find more information on Nathan Long, maybe find more on where the body was buried. Hopefully, this time the salt and burn would go a little more smoothly. A pang of guilt hit him for a moment as he recalled how he had hoped that their case would go on a little longer than planned. If they'd paid more attention in the first place, Alex LeBlanc would not be six feet under now. And Sam wouldn't still be trying to juggle between researching the case and trying to find a way to renege Dean's deal. Because Dean knew his brother like the back of his own hand. There was no way in hell that the kid wasn't trying to juggle both at once and trying (rather poorly, considering the dark bags beneath his eyes and the constant look of exhaustion on his usually young face) to make it seem that he wasn't. Sammy may be books smart, and was one of the best hunters out there, but he had never been one to hide his feelings. Dean, on the other hand, could easily mask them. In fact, Sam was the only one to see right through him. But Sammy, he was like an open book. And Dean knew that the closer he got to the end, the worse his little brother would be. Dean sighed, tried to push the thoughts out of the way. He couldn't let Sam save him. The demon had flat out told him that any attempts to wiggle his way out would result in his younger brother's death. He couldn't have that happen. Fuck, the reason he was in this mess to begin with was to make sure this _didn't_ happen.

"Think I found the family." Sam's tired voice snapped Dean back to the present. Dean looked up as his brother continued to read.

"The MacLeods, Karen and Joseph, 159 Beechwood Drive, Antigonish. Three children, one of them deceased, one Vanessa MacLeod, DOD June 26, 1994 at age 22. Murdered by one Nathan Long, currently held in maximum security. Sound about right?"

Dean nodded and grabbed the keys to the Impala from the night stand. "Guess we're going to visit the MacLeods."

XXX

Sam logged off his laptop and began stuffing any necessary weapons into his duffel. Outside, Dean was waiting in the Impala, windows down, Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks" blaring from the speakers. It was a wonder the man wasn't half deaf by now. Snapping the laptop closed, Sam stuffed the device on top of his clothes and double checked his breast pocket, ensuring that his CSIS badge was where it belonged. He looked up, and let out a little gasp.

"Hey Sam, you don't look so good."

Sam froze, staring at the blonde woman standing before him, smiling rather devilishly. His heart was pounding, but somehow he managed to remain calm, despite the mistrust and anger at seeing the woman standing before him. He gritted his teeth and spat out a name, the words poison on his lips.

"Ruby."

**Hope you like my little cliffie! I know the last few chapters have been set up but I promise we'll be getting into some action soon. Thanks for sticking around, let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. All rights reserved.**

**Chapter 5**

Sam stared at the blonde woman standing before him, eyes blazing. Ruby, on the other hand, was as nonchalant as ever, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, snapping on a piece of chewing gum. She began to advance, and without hesitation Sam drew his flask of holy water, prepared to recite the Latin phrases necessary to exorcise her. The demon merely smiled a trifle condescendingly, clearly unfazed by the hunter's attempts to send her back to hell.

"You won't try that," Ruby said coyly, tossing the wad of Doublemint in the trash.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I know all about the trouble big brother is in."

Sam hesitated, feeling the _whoosh_ as his breath seemed to escape his lungs. But he kept cool, the stern expression never leaving his face. Could she be telling the truth? Was it possible that Ruby really could save Dean? His mind raced before him, a mishmash of jumbled thoughts that nearly cost Sam his concentration on the demon standing casually before him. He could hear both Dean and his father repeat the words that he knew, had known in fact since he was old enough to start hunting: _ never trust a demon._ He remembered how Meg had possessed him a few years earlier, had caused him to turn on Dean and Jo, had relived every painstaking detail of how John Winchester had gotten Bill Harvelle killed. Sure, there was such a thing as friendly vampires, Lenore had proved that not everything in this world, supernatural or otherwise, was black and white. But demons? No. Never could he trust one of them.

And then another scenario: Dean, lying dead after being a hellhound's chew toy, insides torn to shreds. Oh, he knew the damage of hellhounds, had heard of the lore since before Dean had even made that goddamed deal, and was well aware of his brother's fate if he proved to be unable to stop it. And the dying would be the easy part. Though he had never actually been to Hell, he'd read enough (even believed enough) in Christian doctrine to understand that a stint in Hell would be no picnic.

"I know how to save your brother."

Sam froze. Was Ruby really offering to save Dean? A demon, willing to actually do something half decent for a change? Had to be something in it for her. There was absolutely no way that a Hell spawn was willing to put her ass on the line for a hunter, a damn Winchester at that. Sam's mind was swimming as he tried to make sense of Ruby's sudden revelation. Should he trust her? After all, lying was a huge part of the job description. Besides, Dean would be pissed if by some off chance Ruby _was_ able to save him. Demons were what had ultimately cursed the Winchester family.

But Dean was his brother. The damn idiot had sold his soul for him, which had not exactly been the brightest move on his part. Noble, perhaps, but incredibly stupid. So what harm would it be to be equally so and return the favor? He remembered that night in Cold Oak, after his brother had admitted his deal and that he had only a year to live. "You're my big brother," he had said, full of emotion. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." And he meant it. Every damn word. He would be willing to die for his brother…_just like his brother had done for him._

"Ah, shit," he murmured and Ruby arched an eyebrow.

"Earth to Sam." Sam hadn't even realized he had gone off into space until Ruby's sarcastic voice snapped him back to the real world. Rather startled, Sam blinked, still holding on to his flask in a death grip. The confused look on the demon's face was enough to confirm that the younger Winchester had zoned out.

"For a man whose brother's head is on the chopping block you sure are out of it," Ruby sighed, rolling her eyes, once again the sea green of her vessel. "I know how to save your brother."

"Oh yeah?" Trying to keep cool, trying to remember that demons lie and that the bitch was more than likely playing him for a fool.

"Yes. I do." Ruby reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels and downed a generous swig before continuing. "But I need you to trust me.

"Trust a demon. You must be joking." Sam tried to laugh, but the sound seemed forced, dying in his throat. Ruby merely let out an exasperated sigh. "Last time I checked Sam, you don't have a lot of options. How's the research going? Find any useful info to save your brother's ass from the pit?" The guilty look on Sam's face said it all and Ruby smiled slightly. "You need me, Sam. So cut the crap, get over the whole 'she's a demon' bullshit and _let me help your arrogant excuse of a brother."_

"Fuck you."

"Fine." Ruby's eyes flicked black for a moment. Sam reached again for the Holy Water but before he could attempt to exorcise her, the demon was gone.

"Sammy, what's the hold up?" Dean's impatient voice could be heard from inside the motel and Sam sighed, reaching for his duffel. He hadn't realized how long he had left his brother waiting in the car. Would he be suspicious? After all, how long does it take to throw a few shirts in a duffle bag? Trying to rid his mind of Ruby's visit, Sam reached for the bag and his Colt, and left the motel room.

XXX

Fortunately, the visit to the MacLeod's proved to be uneventful. The brothers sat in uncomfortable chairs, sipping coffee and listening to the girl's parents as they recalled stories of their murdered daughter. It was clear that neither had coped with the loss well, still grieving as if Vanessa's murder had been a few weeks ago rather than several years. Sam listened with a heavy heart, trying to give his full attention; but thoughts of his brother kept nagging him, nearly causing him to lose focus. If he couldn't save his brother, it would be him grieving the loss of a loved one. It would be him living each day wondering if he would have the courage to just pull the fucking trigger and be done with it; _him _who would do the same damn thing his stubborn brother did and make a deal of his own…

A subtle kick in the knee brought Sam back to reality. "We'd moved shortly after her passing," Dean continued, nailing the part of grieving classmate. "My brother and I want to pay our respects, you know, just talk to her. We would be grateful if you could let us know where she was buried."

The couple exchanged glances, almost skeptical. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Mrs. MacLeod spoke up. "Did you not hear? Vanessa was never buried. They never found her body. It was all over the news." Her blue eyes grew misty and she wiped them with a trembling hand. Ever the professional, Sam quickly pulled the pair out of an awkward situation. "Yes, of course. What my brother meant to say is that we wished to visit her headstone." Dean nodded, and the couple relaxed slightly. "Of course. She the stone was placed in the St. Augustine's cemetery, just down the road. Would you like directions?"

Five minutes later the brothers were back in the Impala, clearly frustrated at the turn of events. "That's just great. Fuckin' _peachy._" Dean pulled the keys to the Impala from his pocket with a little too much enthusiasm and fired up the engine. "This just keeps getting better and better. There is no fucking way we are going to find the body in a goddamned harbour! How could you have missed this before, Sam?"

_Because I've been a little preoccupied trying to save your life._ Sam sighed, running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he had since childhood which always seemed to come out when he was more anxious than usual. "I know, I should have found the info, Dean, but I _have_ been a little stressed lately." The words came out harsher than intended; Sam could see his brother tense up, and immediately the younger Winchester regretted his choice of words. The last thing he needed was his older brother on his case. Fortunately, Dean left it at that, but the drive back to the motel was passed in uncomfortable silence, except for Zeppelin blaring in the background. _At least he doesn't know about Ruby's visit,_ Sam thought bitterly, staring out the passenger window. The last thing he needed now was for his brother to find out about the demon's impromptu visit. Sam may not have trusted her, but that didn't mean that Dean would be thrilled to hear of their little tete-a-tete. Sam Winchester intended to keep it that way.

XXX

Despite the limited visibility, it was decided that the Winchesters would search for Vanessa MacLeod's body after dark. The Antignosish Harbour was far too populated for the boys to work unnoticed, and being unwilling to spend time in lock up, their options were limited. Fortunately, hours of searching the internet had helped to pinpoint a general area as to where the car had been dumped (which, Sam felt, more than made up for the fact that he had missed the fact that the girl's body had never been recovered). Now, in the cover of darkness, the brothers were searching the lake for any sign of the woman's remains. Hours passed, slow and painstaking, the old speedboat (rented under the name of Sam and Dean Hetfield, of course) covering nearly every inch of the river. Both Winchesters were frustrated, hoping to find something,_ anything,_ to help put the young woman's spirit to rest. Unfortunately, all that resulted were two cranky young men, Dean complaining about the flies and Sam laying out more "bitch faces" in one setting than he had in months.

It was just before dawn when Sam felt a sudden chill as the temperature dropped dramatically. Immediately his hunter's instincts went into overdrive, and judging by Dean's reaction, his brother had felt the same way. Carefully Sam reached behind him for his weapon; ahead of him, Dean was doing the same, eyes darting around him, trying to pierce the darkness through the beam of the flashlight. For a moment, all was still, eerily so, like the eye of a deadly hurricane. _Too_ still, and Sam felt a pang of fear from his gut. They were on a goddamned boat, basically sitting ducks. Hardly daring to breathe, willing himself to calm, Sam shone his light across the harbour, on the lookout for any sudden movement.

"Got anything, Dean?" Whispering, trying not to alert Vanessa MacLeod's spirit. But Sam's efforts were in vain. Dean had turned, about to respond, when a sudden cry escaped from his lips. Before his younger brother could react, Dean Winchester was pulled beneath the waves, his flashlight dropping to the boat's floor. In seconds, he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Told you the action would start to pick up! I am really sorry for the late post, I was having a bit of writer's block (knew what I wanted to write but just couldn't get it to sound right) plus have been super busy. Anyway I hope you enjoy this next chappy! Thanks for all those who are following, PMing, reviewing and favoriting, you really make my day! As always I do not own **_**Supernatural **_**or any of its characters. **

**Chapter 7**

Sam Winchester had rarely ever been truly terrified. After all, he had his big brother to protect him, comfort him from nightmares, keep him safe. He had only been truly terrified three times in his young life: when he had electrocuted himself and nearly died of heart failure; when he had been in a coma after the accident with the semi; and when Dean had confessed that he only had a year to live. Now, watching his brother slip beneath the dark waters of the Antigonish Harbour, Sam was petrified that his brother would be punching his ticket to Hell considerably ahead of schedule. Dean couldn't die, not like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to find the demon that held Dean's contract, kill the bitch, save his brother like he had saved him on so many occasions. He wasn't supposed to fucking drown from a goddamned water spirit!

"Dean!" Struggling to fight his ever rising terror, Sam dived in, desperately searching for his brother. It was next to impossible, and Sam immediately regretted searching the goddamned harbour after dark. He searched blindly, struggling to find any signs of Dean in the murky darkness. Nothing. Resurfacing only for air, Sam continued to search, his training out the window as he felt himself give in to panic. _Calm down,_ he told himself, trying not to give in. _Freaking out isn't going to help Dean. Calm the fuck down!_ He could feel his own lungs burning, and regrettably he resurfaced, gulping in air greedily before diving back under. He had to find Dean. He couldn't die. He couldn't let his big brother die.

It was pure luck when Sam felt his fingers brush against Dean's jacket. Relief immediately overwhelmed Sam and he quickly breathed into Dean's lips, praying that he wasn't too late. He could feel the tightness in his chest as he pulled to the surface.

The spirit refused to let go.

_Shit!_ Struggling to remain conscious himself, Sam struggled to free his brother from the spirit's grasp. At first, his attempts were futile. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was only in fact a few seconds, Sam felt the spirit's grip relinquish, and he quickly surfaced, Dean limp and lifeless in his arms. Gasping for air, the hunter laid his brother in the boat and sped to the surface, praying that he wasn't too late. Dean had been under for a while, face ashen, freckles standing out against the pallor of his skin. Sam floored it, guiding the boat to shore erratically. _You're not going to die, Dean. Not on my watch. Not if I can help it._

Finally, Sam killed the engine, pulling his brother to the shore and ripping open his shirt. "Come on, Dean, come on, _come on, dammit!" _Fighting back tears, Sam began chest compressions, pumping his fists against the man's still chest with such severity that it would be a surprise if the hunter didn't add a few cracked ribs to his injuries. No response. Dean remained deathly still, green eyes glassy and unseeing, lips turning that ghastly shade of blue. No. Nonononononono. The tears were threatening to spill as Sam breathed into his brother's lungs, praying that he would hear his brother cough. _Ohgod Dean, please, please, please…_

Dean remained unresponsive. Unwilling to give up, he tried again with the compressions, trying to convince himself that his brother would be ok. He had to be ok. He was Dean fucking Winchester. "Come on, man, breathe! Breathe, goddamn it!" And then, he heard it. A gurgling sound as Dean began to cough water from his lungs, then gasps as he struggled to breathe, reaching out blindly for his brother's hand. Relief flooded Sam as he sat his brother up, gently rubbing his back as his brother fought to catch his breath. Finally, after several minutes of choking and coughing, Dean was breathing on his own, shaking slightly from the chill.

"You okay, man?" Spoken calmly, as if Sam had not been freaking out not five minutes ago. Dean nodded, reaching for his brother to help him to his feet. "Yeah, I'm fine. Good thing that water is fucking cold, though."

Sam nodded, shuddering. Dean had been without oxygen for several minutes. If the water had been warm, the man would have no doubt suffered brain damage. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to push back the nagging thought that had been plaguing his brain. A few minutes more and he may have had to forget about considering Ruby's help after all. Quickly Sam snapped out of his trance as he helped his still weak and shivering brother back to his feet.

"Guess it's back to the motel, huh?"

"No kidding." Dean brushed his wet hair from his eyes and made his way back to the Impala, brushing aside Sam's steadying arm. Such a mother hen. "I'm fine," he answered a little too sharply, and Sam's "bitch face" came on at full power. "All I need is a hot shower and something to eat," he continued, softening a moment when he noticed that Sam was still rather shaken following the incident. Great. Looks like he's going to be babied all night. Sure enough, Sam retorted with the expected comment: "At least let me drive."

Dean rolled his eyes, tossed the keys to his brother. "Fine." But he had to admit that as he slid in the passenger seat, Dean relished the comfort of leaning against the leather interior, the heater on full blast. They drove in silence, the radio for once, off, for several minutes. Then, unable to take the quiet any longer, Dean spoke up.

"So, guess going after our spirit on the water was a no go."

"No kidding," Sam replied with a slight smirk. He was starting to calm down by now. The gentle hum of the engine, whisper of the few passing cars, and the hum of the heater was beginning to steady his nerves and clear his head. It wasn't uncommon for either brother to be in a life or death situation at some point in the game. Hell, it basically came with the hunter package, whether you liked it or not. But usually, their injuries had been non-life threatening: a dislocated shoulder, some stiches, nothing that neither Sam nor Dean couldn't handle. But this had been a close call, too close for comfort. To his right, Dean chuckled, leaned forward to turn off the heater, and once again Sam was forced back to the present. "You don't need to roast me out of the damn car, Sammy."

"Driver controls the heater," Sam began, playing on one of his brother's favorite sayings. Immediately knowing where his brother was going, Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

XXX

As expected, a hot shower and a cheeseburger and fries did wonders, and in no time Dean was back to his normal, somewhat bitchy self. After complaining when Sam continued to hover over him (no matter how hard Sam tried to be subtle, big brothers _are_ big brothers, and caught on right away. "For god sake, Sammy, back off a little, huh? Get some sleep. Don't know about you but I'm freaking exhausted." Reluctantly, Sam agreed, but in no time, the taller Winchester was passed out on his bed, snoring rather loudly, as he usually did when he was over tired. Within minutes, Dean was asleep too, but once again his rest was haunted with nightmares. It was always the same, or at least some variation of the same: Dean fleeing from Hellhounds, the creatures ever snapping at his heels, never able to outrun him. When Dean woke up after only a few hours' sleep, he sat in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had only made the deal a few months ago. Were the dreams only going to get worse the closer he came to his deal coming due? It only made sense. But if that was the case, he was in for worse to come.

Beside him, Sam was still asleep. He looked peaceful, younger, as he always had when he slept. For a moment, Dean felt a pang of guilt. He was putting his brother through hell, no doubt. Dean wasn't stupid: he knew damn well that Sam felt guilty that his brother had sold his soul for him, felt that Dean's deal was somehow his fault and not Jake's. Because that would be exactly how Dean felt if their roles were reversed. And though he was pissed that his brother was wasting time trying to get him out of the deal, Dean knew that he would be doing the exact same if the shoe was on the other foot. Damn. Dean closed his eyes, remembered the words Bobby had told him shortly after he had admitted what he had done:

"_What is it with you Winchesters, huh? You, your dad. You're both just itching to throw yourselves down the pit."_ Bobby was right, of course. Sam was Dean's weakness, and vice versa. And of course, the bad guys milked that for all it was worth. Which was why Sam had to stop with the heroics. He couldn't let Sam sacrifice himself, try to wiggle his brother out. Because it would never stop. History repeats itself, that was certain, and Dean knew that nothing could change that until one or both of them were dead. They couldn't be martyrs anymore. He looked down at his sleeping brother and felt his eyes mist. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered as the early dawn sunlight peered through the window, casting a warm glow on his younger brother's face. "I'm so sorry."

XXX

"So, guess it's back to square one."

Sam was once again scouring the internet, trying to find anything that could be useful in the hunt. The brothers had only tackled one water spirit previously, back when the two had first reunited two years ago. In that case, the had relied on a little boy named Lucas, rendered mute from the trauma of witnessing his father's drowning, but who had provided pictures to help piece together the massive jumble of information. With the help of the boy's drawings, Sam and Dean had successfully identified the culprit as the boy's grandfather, who had accidently drowned a classmate back when they were kids. To avenge his death, the spirit of the boy began drowning the bully's family members, one by one, before planning on killing Lucas' grandfather himself. Fortunately, the man had sacrificed himself to the spirit, saving Lucas in the process. If not for the boy's cryptic drawings, however, the spirit would likely remain until the lake was ultimately drained.

But there was no little boy to help this time. Frustrated, Sam searched web page after web page, trying to find something, _anything,_ to vanquish the spirit. Finally, after several hours and a splitting headache, Sam found something interesting.

"Think I have something here."

"Yeah, what's that?" Dean looked up from his own research with interest.

"I think we may be looking at a Rusalki."

"A what now?"

"Rusalki. It's a water spirit, generally a female or child, who acts as a siren of sort. She calls for her victims, entrances them, and then goes in for the kill."

"Explains the calling out for Nathan or whatever his name was."

"Exactly, though it doesn't explain why she didn't call your name."

"Guess we were too close for ganking her for her comfort level, and she went into defensive mode," Dean suggested, and Sam nodded. "Makes sense. Anyway, the Rusalki lures its victims with its song, much like a siren does, entrances them and drowns them. They are next to impossible to kill…"

"Great."

Sam rolled his eyes. "But it's believed that if the spirit is out of the water long enough for her hair to dry she can be killed. Trouble is, there isn't really anything that can keep a Rusalki out of the water long enough for that to happen. Kinda like a fish. You're out of the water long enough, you die. These creatures rely on water for survival, and can survive on the surface for only so long.

"So we gotta lure the little mermaid out."

Sam arched his eyebrows, an incredulous look on his face. "Dude. Really? _The Little Mermaid?_"

"It was on."

"Whatever you say, man." Sam chuckled and continued to read. Anyway, these things are pretty tough, are actually said to possibly have vampiric qualities…"

"That's just awesome."

"Let me finish. It could have vampiric qualities and tend to vanish once their death is avenged. Sort of like the spirit that back in Lake Manitoc. Remember how it seemed to back off after the sheriff?"

Dean nodded, chewing thoughtfully on a pen cap. "Yeah. Once he bit it, the spirit hightails it." He looked at his brother, the well chewed pen hovering in his hand. "Now who would a pissed off water spirit go after next?"

XXX

**Nova Scotia Correctional Institute**

**Truro, Nova Scotia**

Dark shadows enveloped the cramped cell, the only source of light being the few dim lights that shone on the cell block after dusk. The prison was relatively quiet, other than a few coughs from neighbouring cells and the annoying hum of the CO as he made his nightly rounds. The prisoners hated that fat fuck, his pudgy, red face usually wearing a scowl (on a good day); he would rap his club in the palm of his equally wide, sweaty hand, staring into each cell with beady, blue eyes as he walked. Each snap of the club seemed in perfect rhythm as his heavy work books echoed across the floor. When CO Jenkins was around, even the toughest inmates knew to keep their mouths shut. Only Nathan Long refused to be intimidated by him. Years earlier, when he had first been charged with his ex-girlfriend's murder, Nathan had been terrified of the man, usually cowering in the corner of his cell in fear when his rounds passed his cramped excuse of a cell. He had been young and stupid then, reckless to the point of getting his pimply ass thrown in prison, but frightened enough to haul ass whenever someone remotely intimidating made his or her presence known. But after over ten years living in a cage, Big Nate as he was ironically referred to among the others on the block had grown to actually kind of respect Jenkins, which in turn earned Big Nate the CO's respect. In retrospect, the guard was all bark and not really much bite, if you had the balls to stand up to him. Nathan Long had finally grown a pair, and had developed an odd jailhouse friendship with the man.

Jenkins had last peered into the fifteen minutes or so ago, and was due for another checkup. He had noticed Nathan sitting on his bunk, flipping through the pages of a nudie magazine. The CO had shrugged his shoulders casually in a _what the fuck do I care¸_ manner and went off, continuing his rounds. Nathan smiled slyly and continued to flip through the pages a few more times before heading to use the bathroom.

He stood aimlessly around for a moment, finished his business, and headed to the sink to wash his hands. Suddenly, he felt his knees give beneath him as he crumpled to the floor. Somehow he heard a voice, eerily familiar, echo through the cell block.

"Nathan. Nathan. Come to me…"

"What the fuck?" Nathan blinked, grabbed the sink to steady himself, but found that he was unable to regain his footing, as if some force were pinning him to the floor. Again he heard that voice (no, it can't be Vanessa, she's fucking _dead_), echoing in his brain, calling for him with a voice that he could have sworn sounded seductive. "Come to me, Nathan."

Nathan felt himself being drug to the toilet, no longer in control of his body, the man kicking fiercely. He let out a scream as he felt his head being thrust into the bowl, holding him under. Nearby, he could hear his neighbours call out for Jenkins to get his fat ass up here, something's happening to Big Nate, the voices muffled from the water and the horrified cries from beneath his throat as he tried to pry himself from whatever was trying to kill him, lungs burning for much needed air. The last thing he remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the sound of faint curses and keys jingling in a lock.

**NOTE: the prison mentioned in this scene is made up. I figured it would probably be ok to mention a real facility but to be safe I decided otherwise. Hope you enjoyed! And reviews are awesome ;) wink wink.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Just wanted to say a big thank you for all who have favorite, followed, read and/or reviewed all my fics, not just this one. Your support is amazing, it's just fantastic to see so much love and appreciation! Thanks especially to deanstheman and mandacncie for your continuing support, it's wonderful and greatly appreciated! DISCLAIMER: I do not own **_**Supernatural**_** or any of its characters. Credit goes to Kripke and Co.**

**Chapter 8 **

"So we find the guy half dead in his cell, right around ten or so. Tried to drown himself in the toilet." CO Jenkins nodded his head casually at the toilet in the now vacant cell, shaking his head a little in disbelief. Sure, prison suicides were pretty common, but Jenkins could think of a lot better ways to go than drowning in a goddamned toilet. Fucking disgusting. Beside him, the two CSIC agents, one incredibly tall and the other one obviously trying to hold back a smart ass comment, were writing furiously in their little notebooks. The tall one at last looked up and shot a warning glance at shorty before continuing.

"Was Mr. Long suicidal? Looking through his records there seem to be no signs that the prisoner was in danger of taking his own life."

"And would he not have been placed in isolation or under surveillance if that were the case, Mr. Jenkins?" Dean added, barely looking up from his own note pad. This time the guard did little to hide his annoyance at Dean's seemingly arrogant demeanor and shot him a glare. It was only when Sam nodded that he answer the question that Jenkins spoke up, and even then he did little to hide a hint of his own arrogance in his tone. After all, if the guy can dish it, he sure as hell can take it too.

"No, Mr. Long had never shown suicidal tendencies before, but that doesn't mean that he decided to check out of the hotel. Last time I checked, living in one of these cells isn't exactly a room at the Ritz. And to answer your question, agent" (with a glare at Dean) "we would obviously have placed the inmate under 24 hour surveillance if we believed him to be a threat to himself or others. This prison is in no way liable for this man's death. Besides, you know what the fucker did. Yeah, he was an ok prisoner but he fucking drowned his girlfriend. By tying her to the fucking seat of her fucking car! I say good riddance."

"Yes," Sam rambled, flipping to a fresh sheet. "Was there anyone around the cell at the time who could have possibly killed Mr. Long? A gang member or another inmate wanting revenge?"

"No, sir. Like I said, he killed himself. It happens. Now if you excuse me, unless you have any other questions, I have to get back to work."

"Is it alright if we take a look at Mr. Long's cell? We need to cover all possible angles, narrow down any other possible explanations."

"Fine. Be my guest. Just don't take all day. Gentlemen." With a curt nod to both brothers before striding along the hall. _Pompous ass,_ Dean thought to himself, following his brother into the cramped living space that had been Nathan Long's home for nearly fifteen years. The brothers searched the cell thoroughly, searching for any signs that maybe Long really had killed himself but it seemed unlikely. For one, the toilet was at such a height that it would be awkward for one to drown himself without someone (or some_thing_) physically restraining him. For another, Long's behaviour was far from suicidal. He had a parole hearing scheduled within a few weeks, and while the odds were not likely in his favour, it wouldn't make sense for someone facing potential freedom to try to off himself. And there was the testimony from other inmates claiming to have heard a female voice saying "come to me". Fit their baddie's MO to a T. But the star witness was Long himself, who had shared the story of his ordeal to the Winchesters with very little persuasion on their behalf.

"I swear, I heard her saying "come to me" before I face planted in that toilet. And I felt this, I dunno, kinda presence holding me back, but there was no one there, man, you know? I was alone, no one else in the fucking cell. I'm telling you, the fucking bitch tried to kill me."

"You're telling me the girlfriend you killed over ten years ago tried to kill you." Dean had pretended to act skeptical, but managed to steal a quick glance over to his brother. That was Vanessa MacLeod, without a doubt, and she had failed in her attempt to kill her murderer. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Let me guess. You don't believe me." Long closed his eyes, leaned back as far as his shackles would allow. "Not that it matters, I'm stuck in this dump anyways. Bet ya that crazy bitch is going to go after me again. Round two."

"I assure you, Mr. Long, we are open to any possibility right now," Sam added, leaning ahead slightly across the table. "This may sound like an unusual question, but was there anything that your late girlfriend was particularly attached to? A diary, favorite stuffed animal, the like?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? What kind of federal agents ask shit like this? God, I must _really_ be losing it…"

"You're the one who claims that his dead girlfriend came back from the dead to try to drown you in a toilet," Dean growled, and Sam kicked him in the shin. _Laying it a bit too thick, Dean._ "Look," he corrected himself. "I know that this sounds kinda hard to believe, but you need to answer the question, Mr. Long. Was there something Vanessa MacLeod couldn't give up, no matter what?"

Long hesitated at first, glaring at the smart ass agent before him, but finally gave in to thinking, looking back on the year they had spent together. "Well, um, she did have this picture of her family, think she was about seven or eight when it was taken. Think it was of her and her grandparents. Both dead now, forget how. Anyways she always had that picture on her, in her wallet. Never left without it. Probably still with her."

_Shit!_ Scratch that idea off the list. Dean and Sam exchanged frustrated glances. No picture, nothing to connect the body to the spirit realm. Another busted lead. "Are you sure it was the picture?" Dean was grasping at straws and he knew it, but there was a slight possibility that Long was wrong, or that maybe the picture was still in Vanessa's room. Maybe…

"No, sir, that girl was fucking obsessed with that picture." Long sighed, leaned forward and stared at Sam squarely in his eyes. "Now, can I go now?"

XXX

"That was awesome," Dean groaned, ripping his tie loose and plopping on the motel bed, slipping off his leather shoes in the process. "This case has been nothing but one wasted lead after another. I mean, seriously? What the hell? This is beyond messed up."

"Understatement of the year."

Dean sighed, watched as Sam tossed his FBI suit in his duffle, kicked off his own shoes, and rummaged for some more comfortable clothes. His brother looked exhausted, even more so than usual. It was as if _he_ were the one facing Hell, and not the other way around. Sam had always sworn that he would figure out some way to save him, regardless to how useless Dean knew those efforts would be. It was exhausting him, perhaps even affecting his judgment on the hunt. To be fair, this one was particularly screwy, and Dean had been just as in the dark as his brother, but something kept nagging at him that the Sammy of a few months ago would have probably figured out a solution, or at least a few more leads.

Dean knew that Sam should just drop it, forget about the deal and focus on the now, but would Dean be able to do that if the situations were reversed? Hell, the whole reason for this damn mess was because he couldn't live with his brother dead. Couldn't bear to hunt alone, to spend the rest of his life without his annoying kid brother at his side. Sure, he was the biggest fucking hypocrite to think that way, but he was the older brother, right? It was his job to protect Sam at all costs. If it mean selling his soul to a crossroads demon, then that's the way it goes.

_Shit, this is messed up. Our lives are one clusterfuck after another._ Dean looked up, realized that his brother had been eyeing him rather suspiciously, and quickly sat up and reached for his duffle.

"What?"

Sam knew exactly what his brother had been thinking, or at least had an idea. It was obvious that he looked like shit, and no amount of coffee or forced energy could hide it. And knowing is big brother, Dean was worrying over him when he should be worrying about his own ass. Typical Dean Winchester. For a moment, he considered a confrontation, admitting that he was pissed about Dean's bravado and macho behaviour when he knew without a doubt that he was scared out of his mind. Let him know that putting that much of a burden on his younger brother's shoulders was selfish and that what he was really doing was slowly killing him, in a more painful way than Jake had ever done in Cold Oak. At least that had been relatively quick, and had been at the hands of a stranger. But this torture, sitting back and doing little as he watched his brother slowly die before him…

Sam thought about voicing these thoughts, instead looked at his brother's equally tired eyes. No, he couldn't. At least not today. He had a year to confess how he felt to his brother, but after how miserable this hunt was going, the last thing he, or Sam needed, was an argument.

"Nothing. Never mind." Sam sat on his bed and powered up his laptop. "Guess we need to make another visit to the MacLeod's."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N. I would like to thank all those who have faithfully followed this story, it really makes my day! Your kind words and support are an inspiration. Thank you all! And, as always, **_**Supernatural**_** is regrettably not mine, but belongs to Eric Kripke and co.**

**Chapter 8**

As expected, the search of Vanessa MacLeod's childhood home proved to be a wasted effort. The room was left just the way it had been at the time of the young woman's death, from the make-up on her vanity to the heavy volumes she had studied from at St. FX. It was the typical girly room, from the floral print comforter to the photos taped to her mirror. Sam and Dean searched in the typical areas where a young woman would hide a photograph or similar keepsake: in her diary, under her bed, tucked behind socks in her dresser drawer. Nothing. The brothers had even searched through the young woman's Bible, but found nothing but a few pressed flowers and a bookmark with the poem "Footprints" written in fancy script. No photograph. Frustrated at the wasted effort, the boys returned to the motel, in hopes of figuring out a Plan B. As they drove, for once the radio turned off, Sam considered confronting his brother about his deal. He could remember Ruby's face clearly, could hear her voice as she explained that she aware of Dean's deal, and could be of some use. But could he really share that information with him? No doubt his brother would brush it off (if Sam was lucky), or bitch at him for the rest of the drive "home" (and possibly then some) if he was less fortunate. But anything was better than this forced bravado, the fake smiles, the pretending that everything was ok when in truth everything was far from it.

"What's up, Sammy? Thinking about that chick? From the pictures seems like she had some pretty hot friends." Dean smiled at his brother with a cocky wink and his trademark smirk.

"Shut up."

"Touchy, touchy." Dean remained quiet for a moment, then went on, oblivious to Sam's look of frustration.

"I mean it man, something hasn't been right for a while. You haven't been sleeping, you're barely eating. You spend hours on that damned laptop on things other than researching our case. I know what you're up to, and it needs to stop."

Sam sighed. No use feigning innocence. Hell, he had been planning on confronting his brother anyway. May as well do it now and get it over with.

"Fine. I was trying to save you, Dean."

Dean was quiet, unsurprised by his brother's revelation. For a while, they drove in uncomfortable silence, Sam staring out the passenger window into the darkness. Finally, Dean broke the silene.

"I told you to leave it alone Sam."

"Like you left it alone for me? Weren't you the one who said 'what's dead should stay dead'? And not that long ago, too, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, but that was before I had my kid brother die in my arms."

Sam sighed in frustration, turning to his brother. "You are such a hypocrite Dean! You get pissed when Dad made that deal for you, and you go and do the exact same thing? You were messed up for weeks afterwards. And now you go and do the same thing to me."

"We are not having this conversation, Sam."

"Yes we are!" Sam was surprising himself with how easy the words were suddenly flowing now that his brother had brought up the topic. His brother had made a goddamn demon deal, and had expected him to sit on his ass and do nothing? Really? This was Sam's chance to vent his frustrations, to hopefully knock some sense into his hard headed brother. As if that were likely to happen. "You can't just go around and pretend everything's fine. Because it's not. You're dying, and I have to sit and watch. And I can't do a goddamned thing to stop it. But that's mostly because I'm not getting any help from you. If you'd stop for one minute and let me actually help you, you might be able to save yourself from the pit."

"You don't understand."

"Then make me understand, Dean."

Dean sighed. He had not wanted to mention the terms of his deal, of what would happen if he tried to weasel his way out of it. But now, he felt as if he had no choice. Because Sam was dead set on voiding the contract. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't watch his brother die, not after what he had gone through that horrible night in Cold Oak. He stole a glance at his brother, who was once again staring blankly out his window.

"Look Sammy," he said quietly, "if I try to wiggle my way out of this deal, do anything to save my ass, you drop dead. And I can't go through that again, ok? I just can't." Dean saw his brother's head lower slightly, as if in defeat. "So you have to let me do this, alright? Hell, I should've been dead months ago."

"Don't say that."

"Can we just drop it, please?" And without waiting for an answer, Dean switched on the radio, hoping Iron Maiden would somehow clear his head, make him forget about what was to come. They drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence.

XXX

Upon arriving at the motel, the brothers promptly crashed, not only from exhaustion, but in hopes of avoiding any awkward conversation following their confrontation in the Impala. By morning, they seemed to be their normal selves, chatting about the case and the upcoming baseball game and conveniently avoiding the subject of Hell and Crossroads Demons. Dean went off on a coffee and breakfast run, and Sam went back to researching the case as he waited, resisting the urge to summon Ruby for more information, or to find some more dirt on Hellhounds and demon deals. By the time that Dean returned with the take out and coffee, Sam had figured out a plan on how to gank Vanessa MacLeod's spirit for good.

"You're probably not gonna like it. Hell, _I_ don't like it."

"Such comforting words from our ghost hunter _extraordinaire,_" Dean smirked, handing his brother a steaming cup. Sam accepted it gratefully and took a careful sip before laying out the details of his plan.

"Well, we already figured out that our water spirit is a Rusalki. Remember how it is suggested that if they're out of water long enough, their hair dries and the spirit may vanish?"

"Yeah. I don't like where this is going, Sammy."

Sam continued, scrolling down his page. "I'd forgotten about that" (_not surprised considering how distracted you are lately, _Dean thought but wisely said nothing). Anyway, I was thinking that one of us could lure her out, chase her on dry land, and keep her moving until her hair dries. Bye bye spirit."

"So you're saying we're going to play cat and mouse with a ghost on the chance she _might_ die if her hair dries…"

"Do _you_ want to hire the scuba gear and find that picture Dean? That's _if_ you can find her body in the first place."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean groaned, "what choice do we have? So what's the master plan? Who's gonna be Ursula's bait?"

"Seriously, man, it kinda scares me that you know about _Little Mermaid_ references." Dean rolled his eyes, chucked his Egg McMuffin wrapper at his brother. Sam shot one of his ultimate bitch faces, tossing the crumpled up paper in the nearby trash. "Anyway, I was thinking that we could lure her out, gun the engine before she gets there, hope that she'll be interested enough to follow long enough to dry her hair. We could use something of Nathan Long's to help keep her focused."

"And where exactly are you going to find something of Nathan Long's, Samwise the Great?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for his brother's attempts at humour. "I swiped it from his cell when we were visiting yesterday. One of his magazines. Why do you think I wanted to check it out?"

Dean chuckled, impressed. "Sammy, you sly devil. Hand it over, it'll be ready when we leave."

"Wait, who said you were going to be the bait?"

"Nonnegotiable. Besides, if I'm risking ruining the upholstery in the Impala, I want to be the one behind the wheel."

Sam rolled his eyes, his appetite suddenly gone. He knew damn well why Dean had chosen to be bait. He was on a suicide mission. He knew that Sam would stop at nothing to break his deal, and if going downstairs ahead of schedule would stop him, then Dean Winchester would gladly step up to the plate. Which was unacceptable to the Sasquatch of a man trying to save his life. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean raised a finger, eyebrows arched.

"I said, nonnegotiable." He glanced at Sam's half eaten breakfast sandwich, eyed it hungrily. "You gonna eat that?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I would really like to thank all of my followers, reviewers, and everyone who has given me such wonderful support as I write this: deanstheman, LilyBolt, mandancie, DearHart and ShadowHawq35. It really means a lot to me, especially where I think that this is not one of my best works. It is truly appreciated! THANK YOU GUYS! And as always, I regrettably don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** it all belongs to the amazing Eric Kripke.**

**Chapter 9**

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Dean eased the Impala to a stop, shifting her into park. It was after dark, the usual time for the spirit of Vanessa MacLeod to make her grand entrance. He stole a glance at his brother, who was already reaching for the handle to the passenger side door. Sam wasn't thrilled with the idea either, especially the fact that his brother had not only suggested to be the spectre's bait, but had come to the idea quickly, as if he were more than ready to go downstairs ahead of schedule. Not because Dean was so anxious to die, but to (at least according to Dean Winchester logic) prevent his brother from wasting his time and energy on saving him. Of course, the elder Winchester had not said so directly, but Sam was no fool. Because if the roles had been reversed, he would have done the exact same thing: in a heartbeat.

"Sam? Sam! I kinda need you to be with me if we're gonna try and pull this off!"

Sam blinked, unaware that once again his mind had drifted. "Yeah, yeah, let's do this."

"You sound so convincing," Dean muttered, opening the trunk and reaching for a pair of flashlights and his shotgun, already loaded with salt rounds. He handed the weapon to his brother, then pulled out his trusty Colt. Loaded and ready to go. Perfect. Shoving the weapon in the back of his jeans and some extra rounds in his coat pocket, Dean closed the hood, turned to his brother. "You got our baddie's _Playboy?_" When Sam pulled the rolled up magazine from his jacket pocket, Dean nodded in satisfaction. "Guy had poor taste. Should've been _Busty Asian Beauties…_ ah nice."

"Dude, do you think of anything besides porn?"

"Of course I do. Bacon cheeseburgers and beer."

Sam rolled his eyes, cocking his own weapon. "You're hopeless, Dean."

"Nah. More like enlightened."

Sam cleared his throat, hinting that the brothers return to more serious matters, and Dean nodded, reaching for the nudie mag. The plan was for Dean to wait in the Impala, engine running, ready to go, while Sam scouted the area nearby on foot, ready to draw the spirit to Dean if necessary. It was not the best plan either brother had come up with in over a decade, but the options were few and far between. It was either lure the ghost and hope for the best or watch more innocent young men meet a watery grave. Sam gave Dean another nod, the Winchester signal that the plan was to be set in motion, and headed into the darkness, gun ready. Dean once again slipped behind the wheel of his Baby, turning the key in the ignition: the car roared to life. "Sorry I have to do this, Baby," he muttered, running a hand against the dashboard. He watched as the beam of Sam's flashlight grew smaller, until it was a faint glow in the distance. "Damn Sammy I hope this works," he muttered.

XXX

Sam had reached the shore without incident, a fact which did little to ease the nagging discomfort in his gut. Rarely was he nervous on the job to the point of nearly being physically ill, but as he walked further from the Impala and his brother, knowing of what potential danger lay ahead, the young man felt his supper threaten to come back up. _Not now, Sam, be cool. You can do this._ He scanned the shoreline, eyes ever alert for any physical signs of their spirit, or for the telltale drop in temperature. Nothing. It almost seemed as if the ghost of Vanessa MacLeod knew that the Winchesters were about to vanquish her, and was lying low. Minutes passed, still with no sign of the vengeful spirit; Sam began to feel a surge of relief, despite their mission. No ghost meant no possible replay of the last time the brothers had tried to gank her. Sam shuddered in spite of himself as he recalled the events of the past few days, the time in which Dean had nearly drowned at the hands of their target.

The warm summer night suddenly became freezing cold. Without hesitation, Sam readied his weapon, eyes peeled for any sign that a pissed off water spirit was waiting nearby. And sure enough, a beautiful woman emerged from the harbour, gesturing to Sam with one finger, a look of intense desire in her green eyes. Her dress, soaked from the water, clung to her body, the wet material transparent and revealing her full bosom. With each step, her red hair clinging to her heart shaped face, the spirit beckoned, one finger pressed against her full, pouty lips.

"Come to me."

Sam froze, entranced. His mind raced a mile a minute, fully aware of how dire his situation was at the moment. _Shitohshitohshit she's got me. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…_

"Come to me, Sam." Closer, now running one hand along her breast, down her abdomen, and along one leg, lust in her voice and eyes. Sam tried to back away, but felt frozen. His brain willed him to move, thousands of synapses firing off messages telling him to haul ass. But his feet remained solid to the ground, as if in protest. By now Vanessa's spirit had approached Sam, had cupped his chin in one delicate hand. She stared into his eyes, her own bright with both hatred and desire. With the gentleness of a lover (_like Jess,_ Sam thought with horror) she breathed softly in his ear, slid one hand inside his shirt, tracing her fingers along every inch of his chest. "Come to me, Sam." And he shuddered as he felt her lips, surprisingly soft, press against his, at first gently, and then with passion. For what seemed like an eternity (but was in fact less than a minute) the spirit kissed him, running her hand through Sam's thick mop of hair, entwining each tangled lock with her slender fingers. And Sam could do nothing but watch, wanting desperately to feel repulsed but was instead aroused by the spirit's touch. The thought appalled him, nearly as much as the thought of trusting Ruby did. But despite his best efforts, he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, not from fear but pleasure.

_Shitshitshit….._

The spirit had finally stopped kissing, pulling her lips away from Sam's in an equally seductive manner, and gently grasped his hand, her fingers entwined in his. Without a word, she led him to the harbour, her gaze still locked on her prey's. Again, Sam could feel his feet shuffle from their spot, his legs carrying him to harm's way, but could do nothing to stop it. _Oh god Dean you have to distract her. Shit Dean, get your ass down here NOW!_ But Dean was still sitting in the Impala, waiting for Vanessa MacLeod to make her way over to him, and pull the same stunt on the elder Winchester. Sam closed his eyes, hoping that somehow breaking visual contact would dispel the spectre's power, somehow sever the connection between the two. As expected, it was of no use.

Closer to the harbour now, and Sam finally felt a hint of his fear overpower the lust the vengeful spirit had programmed into his brain, heart, and loins. He tried to call out Dean's name, but it seemed as if the ghost had control over his larynx as well, for not a sound formed from beneath his throat. Closer still, and Sam could feel the damp of salt water as the spirit led him down the small embankment and into the water. Though initially shallow, it only took a few meters for Sam's feet to be no longer touching the bottom. The spirit once more cupped her hand beneath the young man's chin, looked deeply into his hazel eyes. "Come to me…."

"Like hell," Sam finally managed to spit out, hissing at the spirit's touch. Undeterred by the rejection, the spirit kissed Sam one more time, aggressively, fingers again entangled in his thick, dark hair. They brushed against his ear, pulled a loose lock from his forehead, and then suddenly pressed down at the crown of his head, pulling Sam under. The last thing Sam remembered before going under was the sound of his brother's voice calling frantically in the distance.

"SAMMY!"

XXX

Sam had always been a strong swimmer, could hold his breath longer than any of his colleagues on his high school swim team. But as he was held beneath the surface, the darkness of the harbour enveloping him, Sam knew that he didn't have much longer. He thrashed his arms wildly, trying to free himself from the ghostly woman's grasp, but the efforts were proving to be futile. It was as if heavy chains were wrapped around his body, weighing him down, pulling him deeper and deeper into the abyss below. For a moment, as crazy as it seemed, Sam recalled their previous encounter with a water spirit, in which its victims had drowned under eerily similar circumstances. Though he had always felt for the victims (Sam would be the first to admit that he more sensitive) he had never really thought of just how horrible the process of drowning was, especially when that person was unable to defend himself. It was horrible, frightening; in fact, it was among the most terrifying occurrences in his life, second only to the thought of Dean being ravaged by Hellhounds.

Sam could feel the tightness in his chest as his lungs fought desperately for air. He tried to kick his legs, to somehow reach the surface, but his efforts were doing nothing to aid him, but seemed in fact to hinder him. _So this is it, _he thought to himself, as darkness slowly began to overcome him; the kicking and thrashing began to slow down. _So this is how I die. _And as the last grips of consciousness left him, the last thing Sam thought was: _looks like Dean's going to Hell for nothing._


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thanks again to all who have supported me while writing this story: deanstheman, LilyBolt, mandancie, DearHart, and ShadowHawq35. It's greatly appreciated! DISCLAIMER: I don't own **_**Supernatural **_**or any of its characters. All rights reserved**_**.**_

**Chapter 10**

"SAMMY!"

Sam's eyes flashed open as he sat up, gasping for breath and choking on salt water. Before him, Dean breathed an obvious sigh of relief, concern welling in his eyes. "Thank God," he murmured, helping his younger brother sit up and placing a still shaking hand on his shoulder. "Thought I'd lost you, kiddo."

Sam finally felt his coughing fit let up, and he allowed his brother to help him to his feet. "I'm fine, Dean. But our spirit's somewhere close. We've gotta get moving."

"Sam. You almost drowned! You need to take a minute, catch your second wind, or at least get some dry clothes."

Sam shook his head no, mouth in a firm line, a look of grim determination on his face. "I know you're worried, Dean, hell, I was freaked when you almost drowned, but this has gone on long enough. No one else is going to die tonight, at least not on my watch."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment, nodded his head in agreement. It had scared him to see his brother so close to death, lying lifeless on the ground. Memories of that night in Cold Oak flashed before him, a painful reminder of what had happened before and what could very easily have happened again if he had not pulled his unconscious brother from the water. Now, seeing Sam alive and well, breathing on his own, Dean wanted nothing more than to take his little brother home, let him sleep off the events, and try to figure out a Plan C in the morning. But he knew Sam was right. If they missed out on their opportunity to gank the water spirit tonight, who knew when another chance might come up? No, the job had to be finished.

"So what do we do now?"

"Stick to the plan," Sam answered grimly, testing his now water soaked weapon. As expected, it was useless. They'd have to go back to the Impala and get a new one. "Only this time, it may not be the best idea to split up."

"No kidding, Poindexter." Now that his brother was out of danger, Dean could feel his sense of humour returning. Sam glared at him, and Dean chuckled, giving his brother a gentle slap on his shoulder. "'Dean, you go be the water bitch's bait!' Says the guy who got seduced by a dead chick."

"I never said you should be her bait," Sam grumbled, finding no humour in Dean's words. The older brother grinned. You were getting it on with a dead chick. The side of Sammy Winchester we never knew."

"Shut up, Dean." But this time Sam couldn't help but let out a grim smile. His brother had a way of making him laugh, or at least mildly grin, in the worst possible situations. God he was going to miss that.

_Stop thinking in the past tense!_ Sam quickly blinked, pushing the thought from his mind. He had a spirit to vanquish; the last thing he needed was for his judgment to be clouded from worrying about his brother. Fortunately, Dean had missed the sudden look of pain in his brother's face, instead making his way to the still running Impala. "Come on, Sam. We've got work to do."

XXX

Five minutes later, the brothers were once again sitting in the Impala, eyes peeled for Vanessa MacLeod's spirit to materialize before them. Not surprisingly, the first twenty minutes proved to be uneventful and Dean had been obliged to turn off the engine. Already their attempt to vanquish their latest foe was proving to be hard on gas. The brothers engaged in small talk, hoping to distract themselves from the past events (or, though neither Sam nor Dean would admit it, the future as well), all the while alert for any sudden movement, drastic temperature drops, or, as Dean had so eloquently put, urge to suddenly want to have sex with pissed off water spirits. As expected, this remark earned a punch and bitchface from Sam.

Finally, after half an hour, Sam thought he could see an apparition in the distance; the temperature dropped significantly, and Dean immediately fired up his Baby, ready to leave in short notice. The brothers waited anxiously as the Rusalki approached, always gesturing with one slender finger, always calling with a low, seductive purr. "Damn, this chick doesn't take no for an answer," Dean joked lamely, his words falling on deaf ears.

"You got the magazine?"

Dean nodded, pulled the _Playboy_ from his coat pocket. "Good," Sam answered, watching tensely as the spirit approached. "This time we're ready for her."

Moments later, the spirit had approached the car, and in a flash, materialized inside, positioning herself on Sam's lap. _Ready for round two,_ Sam thought grimly, repulsed by the woman before him. Like before, the ghostly figure repeated her usual methods of arousal, and again, the younger Winchester tried to ignore the spirit's attempts. Beside him, Dean watched anxiously, waiting for his cue to gun the Impala and drive as far away from the shore as possible. When Sam began to feel the tightening in his jeans, he nodded, and Dean shifted the car in gear, practically slamming his foot on the gas and hoping that the spirit wouldn't be too distracted by the moving vehicle to stop with her deadly game.

Luck finally held with the Winchesters, as the spirit seemed to not notice, or care, that she was moving further from the water with each rotation of the Impala's tires. She continued instead with her pray, repeating the same movements that she had earlier: nibbles and whispers in the ear, caressing the chest, first gentle, then passionate kissing. Sam endured it all, once again repulsed that the spirit's "charms" were proving to be effective. He knew that it had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with manipulation, a twisted form of mind control. But that didn't make the action feel any less dirty. For a moment, he thought of Jess, of rainy Sunday afternoons when they would spend the day away making love before settling comfortably before the TV, eating popcorn and watching classic movies on AMC. To be seduced by a ghost, to be seemingly falling for this twisted thing's charms, almost made him physically ill.

And then, another thought. The spirit before him was once a woman, a sister, daughter, friend, whose life had been tragically snuffed out far too soon. She had rarely felt the touch of a young lover, enjoyed those rare moments of intimacy. And Sam remembered the words he had told Molly McNamara that night, what seemed like an eternity ago. "You sound almost sorry for them," Molly had told Sam as they leafed through their vengeful spirit's old photo albums. And Sam _had_ felt that way, had told Molly as much. "Well, they weren't evil people, you know? A lot of them were good. Just… something bad happened to them. Something they couldn't control."

_Something they couldn't control._ Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of the words from what seemed like decades ago, and forget that the lost soul before him had tried to kill him twice, plus his brother, for good measure. _Now we really have to stop Vanessa, _he thought. _To save her._

Meanwhile, Dean was still steering the Impala along the dirt road, silently cursing that the damn thing ran along the shore. Great. Fucking-A. Beside him, Sam had already been thrust against his seat, the sign that the final, deadly stage of the game was about to begin. Time for Act 3. Dean scanned the road before him, searching desperately for a turn off that would lead away from the harbour, finding nothing. And then, he remembered it. The porn magazine in his coat. Expertly, Dean pulled out the magazine with one hand, waving it tauntingly before the spirit. "Hey, Vanessa, remember this?"_ Please let this work. Please…_

To Dean's relief, the spirit pulled away from Sam, glared at the man behind the wheel. Indeed she did recognize the glossy volume, for hatred immediately filled her green eyes. Dean grinned, relieved that his plan seemed to be working. Perhaps it would do no good with drying the ghost's hair, but at least it would distract her from Sam until he could reach the turn off. The spirit let out a hiss of anger, and tried to reach for the magazine. Instead, Dean pulled his hand away, like a stubborn child playing keep-away from his annoying siblings. "Sorry, sugar, but you've gotta try a bit harder than that."

Vanessa let out a horrific screech of anger, and one more tried to snatch away the volume. Once again, Dean was able to keep it out of the spirit's reach. But he knew that this game wouldn't go on forever. In no time she would catch on and snatch that magazine; and then the brothers would be back at square one. They had to reach that turn off. Fast.

Catching on, Sam nodded his head at Dean. His older brother winked in understanding, and tossed the _Playboy_ to his brother, who continued with his brother's little game. After his recent memories of Molly McNamara, the woman who had no clue that she had been dead for over a decade, it pained him slightly to be tormenting the spirit, but he had no choice. In frustration and anger, the Rusalki tried once again to take the magazine, to no avail. "Dean, the window!" he hissed, and Dean immediately cranked down the window. He knew exactly what his brother had planned. It was a crazy idea, not likely to work, but considering how fucked up this entire job had been, even crazy just might work.

Sam nodded his thanks, gesturing for his brother to be ready. Dean nodded, finally seeing the turn off up ahead. The car at last sped away from the harbour, the distance between the spirit and her watery home diminishing with each mile. Sam waited a few moments, and then expertly tossed his brother the magazine. For a moment, Sam felt his heart drop as his brother nearly dropped the periodical to the floor. Fortunately, Dean regained his grip on the magazine and quickly tossed it out the open window. "This better work, Sammy," he muttered, eyes still peeled ahead.

"It will work. I think."

"Thanks for the bout of confidence."

"Not the time Dean."

The brothers waited with baited breath, hoping that the spirit would abandon her task and instead go after the magazine. Already she had been away from a water source for too long, and her hair was beginning to dry. Sam felt a hint of hope that maybe, their crazy plan would work after all. Sure enough, the spirit vanished, and then reappeared a few miles back, kneeling on the ground, ripping at the magazine with intense hatred. Their plan seemed to be working! Dean eased off the car to a stop, watching anxiously in the rear-view mirror as the ghostly woman tore piece after piece of the magazine, thrusting each wadded up bit of paper like a wounded animal. Again Sam felt pity for her, the woman whose life had been taken tragically, and in such a horrific manner, all those years ago. He remembered Tessa, the reaper who had tried to take Dean those hours after the car crash, the woman whose presence Dean had initially forgotten following his ordeal. Upon remembering, when the brothers had shared one of their rare moments of grief, Dean had admitted that he had had a conversation with the Reaper about crossing over, and how his older brother had come very close to being the very thing the brothers hunted. _How do you think angry spirits are born?_

And Sam, against his better judgment, climbed out of the car. Dean tried to stop him, but knew just how stubborn his kid brother could be. He had stood up to their father on more occasions than Dean would care to remember, and had left the family business in search of higher education, against their dad's wishes. Sam Winchester was stubborn as a mule, just like his daddy, and if he wanted to get out of the car, he would damn well get out of the car. So instead of trying to stop him, Dean climbed out too, eyes peeled on his brother, ready to escape at a moment's notice. But there was no need. In the distance, there was a shimmering light before them. The young woman looked at the boys, almost as if giving a silent thanks, and then disappeared into the night, leaving only the fluttering pieces of Nathan Long's outdated dirty magazine.

"She's gone," Sam whispered in relief. Dean nodded in agreement, watching as the bright light before them faded into darkness. They stood there for a moment, almost as if entranced, before finally climbing in the Impala and heading back to the motel.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I just want to thank again everyone who has read, favorited, or reviewed this story. Your support is wonderful, it really makes my day! Getting to the end of this story, thanks for sticking around!**

**Chapter 11**

_Dean lies on his back, eyes staring lifelessly at a starry sky. The moon casts an eerie glow on his blood spattered face, shadows dancing upon pale skin as the wind rustles the trees overhead. Kneeling over the torn body, Sam cradles his brother in his arms, tears spilling from hazel eyes and splashing gently on the dead man's bloodied cheek. Trembling in grief, Sam pulls Dean's unresponsive body close to his chest, not caring that his brother's blood has now covered the front of his white shirt. The night is still, other than the tortured cries and sobs as Sam mourns his older brother._

"_Dean, Dean, Dean…" He finds himself repeating his brother's name, gently rocking him back and forth like an infant. His brother, his life, the man he had tried so desperately to save, is gone. And Sam, for the first time, is truly alone. His heart is aching, as if it has been torn from his chest. He can't live with his brother, it's not humanly possible. How could he, when Dean had raised him, been his father, brother, best friend, for twenty-five years?_

_Ruby suddenly appears before Sam, her face pale in the moonlight, eyes black as coal. She watches for a moment, a look of frustration on her face. "I told you, Sam," she says, not really in sympathy, but in tone which Sam thought sounded almost like gloating. "Remember that morning in the motel? When I said I knew how to save Dean? Well, guess what, buttercup, it's too little, too late." She smiles faintly before she turns away. "See you soon, Sammy."_

XXX

Sam awakened with a start, face slick with sweat, breathing heavy. The nightmare had seemed all too real, so much so that he hastily looked over to his brother's bed, and felt his heart drop to find it unoccupied, the sheets pushed aside. For one irrational moment, Sam thinks that it has already happened, that Dean's deal had already come due and that someone else must have occupied that bed. But then, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom snaps Sam back to reality. His brother is alive and well, at least for now. Thankful that Dean has not witnessed his latest nightmare, Sam sat up, tossing aside his covers. The sound of the shower ceased, and in a few minutes, Dean emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Shower's free. Hurry up, dude, I'm starving. Thinking pancakes, or Pig in a Poke."

Sam smirked, rolling his eyes. "Dude, the only thing you ever think about is your stomach."

"Well, the way I see it, I got less than a year, I say go for it." Seeing Sam's face fall slightly, Dean immediately regretted his choice of words. Suddenly he realized just how tired he looked, despite the fact that it is past ten and both brothers have slept in a lot longer than normal. No doubt the poor kid had had a nightmare. "Sammy…"

"Just forget it." Sam headed to the bathroom, and in a few minutes, the sound of the shower once again can be heard in the tiny motel room. Dean sighed, once again mentally scolding himself for his choice of words. But it seems as if he can't help it. The last thing he wants to think about is how terrified he really is of his fate, of spending an eternity in Hell, undergoing Lord knows what kind of torment. But it wasn't just his fate which scared him, but Sam's wellbeing. He had seen firsthand how his brother had not been quite on his A game this past hunt, and while admittedly the mistakes could have been made by any experienced hunter, none of them could compare to how great a hunter Sam Winchester is. These were mistakes which under normal circumstances his kid brother would have caught in a heartbeat. Imagine how Sam would be once Dean was gone, and his brother actually was hunting on his own. Would he make rookie mistakes, find himself pushing petals before winter? Or would he pull the revenge card, go after anything with black eyes in hopes of hunting down the ones responsible for actually collecting what was due? But none of these scenarios scared him like the thought of the most likely option Sam would take: selling his own soul to bring him back. Because it would be the exact thing Dean would be doing if the situations were reversed.

Dean closed his eyes, felt moisture forming from beneath the lids, but quickly brushed them away before Sam could come out of the bathroom. He didn't want his brother to see him like this, emotionally scarred, and scared out of his mind. Because he was scared. Sam was right, this macho act he was pulling was just for show, a façade of how he was truly feeling. Instead of caring and sharing, Dean Winchester had always coped with trauma by putting on a show, making crude jokes, anything to seemingly make light of the situation. Because to face reality would be too much. And he can't go through that; can't put Sam through that.

By the time Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean is dressed and ready to go, zipping up his duffel and slinging it over his shoulder. "Hurry up, Sammy, I seriously need some grub," the older brother said with a grunt, gesturing towards Sam's nearly empty bag. Sam rolled his eyes, reaching for a pair of boxes which had not seen a Laundromat in a few days. "Dude, can you at least let me get dressed?" Dean flashed one of his trademark grins, reaching for the keys to the Impala. "What's the matter, Sammy? I think you look dashing."

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch."

XXX

Ten minutes later the brothers were on the road, AC/DC's "Back in Black" blaring over the stereo. Leaning in the passenger seat, watching the town of Antigonish disappear in the rear-view, Sam couldn't help but remember that October morning, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when he had reunited with his brother in search of their dad. Dean had fired up the engine and the familiar riffs of the song had echoed in the car, like an old friend. Sam found himself smiling at the memory; Dean caught the grin, and flashed one of his own, surprised.

"So your taste in music has finally changed, Sammy boy?"

"Sammy boy? That's a new one, even for you, Dean."

Dean grinned, playfully whacking his brother on the shoulder. "Sometimes I like to test the waters a little bit. Glad to see you're crossing to the wild side. Can't blame you, Brian Johnson nailed it, big shoes to fill too."

"Brian…"

"Should've known," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Brian Johnson. Lead singer. Replaced Bon Scott after he died. Ring a bell?"

"Dean, I don't like this stuff like you do and have no clue who these guys are."

"Then why the smile?"

For a moment, Sam is quiet, not wanting to reveal an embarrassing secret and initiate one of his brother's dreaded "chick flick moments". But when Dean continued to stare at him quizzically, obviously hinting that he was not about to let this one slide, Sam caved.

"Well, this was the song that you put on when we first got back together. Before…" _Before Jess died._ But he can't bring himself to say it. Dean, however, knew what his brother was about to say, and nodded his head in understanding. He can feel his eyes water again, and was grateful that Sam was still looking out the window, seemingly interested in the Nova Scotia countryside, and not paying him the least bit of attention. The revelation has touched Dean, and he smiles, pleased that something as simple as leaving a gas station has triggered a pleasant memory for his brother. But, in typical Dean Winchester fashion, he was not about to share and care.

"Aww, Sammy, you are such a girl. Should we find a motel, sit on the couch and watch Lifetime movies? You get the popcorn and I'll pick up the Haagen-Dazs." Sam finally looks at his brother, sees the emotion behind the joke, and smiles. He knew he had less than a year to save his brother, to somehow undo the mess they were in. In the few moments alone since waking up that morning, Sam had wondered if trusting Ruby to help them was such a bad idea after all. Had the dream been an omen that perhaps the demon was of more help than he had initially thought? That perhaps teaming up with her was the wise choice? He wasn't certain about Ruby's role in the story which would unfold within the next few months. What Sam did know, however, was that he had a brother to save. One who had been with him through thick and think through the passing years. And he wasn't about to give up on him.

After all, he _was_ a Winchester.

The End

**Thanks for sticking with the story guys! Just to let you know I am working on my summergen fic now so I may be out of the picture for a little while, at least writing wise. So there won't be many posts for a few weeks at least. Hope you enjoyed my second installment in what I am now calling my "Winchesters North of the Border" series. Thanks for your continued support! Love and hugs, jojospn **


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